


Paradise

by collegebookgirl



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-02-15
Updated: 2012-10-31
Packaged: 2017-10-31 06:18:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 46,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/340881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/collegebookgirl/pseuds/collegebookgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's something about our routines that I need to get rid of. The solidity of them, or the fact that they control us. This desperate need for change has unraveled me, and turned us inside out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Injured Bird

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So basically, this is my story "Paradise" from FanFiction.net that I'm uploading onto here! I hope you all enjoy this story, each chapter is inspired by a song that I post at the beginning of the chapter.
> 
> This chapter was inspired by Damien Jurado's "Sheets"

It's when he's gone, that I am at my most vulnerable. I am weak, pathetic, and lonely. Everything I used to look down upon in people I have now become. I depend on him like a pulse. This craving, aching thing in my chest that gapes when he is vacant. I need his warm breath against my ear and his constant nagging about if I took my medicine.

He's become this thing I can't live without, like my lungs melded into his, and my heart became his with a signature of his hand. The way his hands mold my body into shapes, and the way he draws intricate details across my skin, like a blank canvas.

The way he tastes like cool peppermint and sugar after days if baking. How he smells faintly of dough, and warm sugar cookies, with an underlying scent that is distinctly male and masculine.

I hate sunsets. They're orange and bloody and remind me of dead bodies. Peeta loves them; he says my skin reminds him of a sunset all "bronze and dewy". Sometimes I want to punch him.

He always says shit like that, and I think its bullshit and lies. Sometimes when we're in bed together, while I grope at his skin and try to bring him closer, he'll say things that make me just want to shout out "Shut up," but I can't.

He's just too sweet.

We're both broken and handle our destroyed, frayed emotions differently. Peeta with his coddling words and me with my vacant eyes. I wish he would just yell out "Do it like you mean it," but I know he won't.

Which is why tonight, I'm determined to give Peeta what he need. Lovemaking and candle-lit dinners, not my rabbit stew and an empty lay.

Peeta comes in the door, hair gleaming from rain and flour tucked in his jacket to keep it from solidifying. I have an apron on.

I spent all day trying to cook a chicken with cheese recipe my Mom told me over the phone. I started at seven this morning, and went through five chickens. I've never had the cooking gene which is why Peeta is surprised to see I've even attempted it.

"You cooked," he says it as a statement. This smile I haven't seen in awhile breaks across his face and my stomach clenches deep within my body.

"Yeah," I say. "It may taste bad but you know, I wanted to do something for you—"

"I love it," He says walking towards me. "I haven't even tasted it yet, and I love it."

"Peeta," I say blushing and ducking my head. I'm still an eighteen year old girl with a boyfriend. The Games, as much as they've changed me, haven't changed that.

He stands before me, and tugs on my chin. I look up. He's gotten taller and has been lifting more flour for the bakery he now owns. It shows. His muscles are defined under his black t-shirt and I can see the definition of his hipbones under the hem. My stomach is twisting wildly in my body.

"Thank you, Katniss," He whispers. "I know its—" he pauses and his face clenches as if in pain. "I know it's hard for you to — to be around me—"

"Peeta," I stop him before he has an episode. "It's not hard," I say firmly so I can assure him. "You help me, I help you. Take this as repaying you for all you've done."

"You don't have to repay me." He whispers against my skin. His smell envelops me. I wonder if we're going to forget the chicken. "Being around me, it's enough, this is just like a super-bonus," he smiles cheekily. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and feel his muscles flex beneath his t-shirt. His neck is warm where my face lies. He sighs in my ear.

"Katniss," he says. I mumble something out that may be classified as a moan. "Let's eat," he says. I mentally groan, thinking about how much I'd rather forget this rancid chicken and go to the bedroom, but Peeta pulls away. He makes his way to the table where I've set it up with forks and knives that look like they match.

Peeta turns to me and smiles like I've given him the greatest gift. He sits down and after all the effort I've put into today, I feel like it's worth it. That warm look on his face is so worth it, I wish I could cook better just so I could see it over and over again. I sit down across from him and the love he's exuding is so painful and beautiful I'm overwhelmed.

"This is amazing Katniss," he says as he digs into the imaginary meal I call food. "I mean, really, I can't explain it," he struggles, mouth full of food. "But something about walking in here after work and seeing you cook, it's just—" he sighs. "It's just so amazing, I can't find words."

Peeta's always been like this — classic and simple in his ideas of married life. Too bad there's no suburban in the ruins of District 12. I used to consider Victor's Village the crème de la crop, but amongst all the destruction and poverty, it's nothing but an empty façade.

"This is really good, Katniss," he says shoveling food into his mouth. I'm anticipating the after meal activities so much, I haven't touched my food.

"No need to lie Peeta, if it's bad, you can just tell me," I don't want to sound like I'm having an episode, but somehow anger is laced through my words. Peeta carries on like he hasn't noticed. He's developed a strong anesthetic for my words.

"It's good Katniss," he repeats. "Where'd you get the recipe from?"

"My Mother," I say. Peeta nods. "I called her yesterday."

"How is she?" he asks with a curious look.

"Fine," I decide I should try to make conversation. Peeta is all about the verbal foreplay. "District 4 got some remodeling so she opened up that new hospital she wanted."

"That's great," Peeta says affectionately. I see a glimpse of us sans The Games. Happy in our house, with warm meals and afternoons wrapped in each others arms. I'm uncomfortable, and want this to be over, but I know it's what Peeta deserves. I force myself to sit.

We eat in silence. Peeta occasionally offers the compliments, but after I don't reply, he stops giving them. I'm glad, I can't handle the constant praise, it's embarrassing. After Peeta is done with his dinner and my half eaten one, he looks at me over the dinner table.

"Are we going to bed again?" This is the thing with Peeta, he's always afraid I will decide to leave his house and move back into mine, so he constantly asks me this question. I would too, considering my constant mood swings and unreliable emotions.

"Yes," I reply, putting my napkin from my lap to the table. He rises and it's when we're in standing next to one another that I realize how much I rely on his raw masculine power. There's something about the muscles in his neck and the way he grasps my hand in such firm strength that I am awed by the power he keeps hidden inside himself. I am overt with my hunting strengths and make it aware to people so they do not underestimate me. Peeta keeps his enclosed like a phantom limb, and waits until the right moments to show it.

He guides me through his house with simple furniture and modern accents curtsey of my Mother. His bedroom is like the rest of his house, plain and bland until you turn the corner and see the images Peeta has taped to the wall. Eyes, limbs, trees, suns, and me. As much as I protested, Peeta insisted on hanging all his drawings of me on the walls, and all I can see is a reminder of what I am not.

Peeta grabs my waist and holds my hipbones with strength and gentleness as if I would break with too much impact. He puts his lips gently against mine and my legs give way. I fall back on top of his white comforter, the warm down feathers like a cloud on this cold winter evening. He crawls over top of me, his body laying ever so gently over mine, like two puzzle pieces joining together.

I try not to notice the desire building in my stomach and try to focus instead on the way his body reacts when I lick the pulse point on his neck. He moans and puts his lips hungrily back on mine. I want to taste him, so I grab his bottom lip in between my lips and apply pressure. My tongue moves to slowly sooth where I bit and I can't help the animalistic growl that comes from deep within my chest, when I taste his mouth.

It's like an orange day in the fall, with special caramel apples from Peeta's bakery with warm toasted peanuts, and dry leaves surrounding us. Peeta's hands gripped the very top of my waist, just under my breasts as I leaned upward and pressed a kiss to his neck. I took a page out of his book and laid a trail of kisses, parting my lips a little further each time. Finally, I place a hot, open-mouthed kiss on Peeta's pulse point, letting my tongue once again dart out to taste the skin there. It was like his mouth but a little bit tangier, maybe from perspiration, but I didn't care. I gave his jaw the same treatment, kissing and running my tongue lightly over the defined line there.

Peeta finally gripped my face strongly in his hands and pulled me up into a kiss. His tongue reached out and swiped the inside of my mouth and it should have felt intrusive, but it didn't. My lips couldn't move fast enough or hard enough against his.

"You can touch me, Peeta," I moaned against his skin. He groaned and let his hands roam. Peeta supported himself with one arm and kept the other between us, touching me. My stomach, my sides, my back, my breasts, my shoulders, my arms, my legs, my hips. Any part of my he could reach. His lips trailed down to my neck, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses that made me squirm.

"I need— I need to— get out of my clothes," I made out. As much as I was self-conscious, Peeta made me confident, so I flipped us over and pealed my shirt over my head. Peeta gazed up at me, than grabbed the back of my neck and crushed my chest against his. My hands drifted to the hem of his t-shirt where I slip my hands to feel the taut muscles that lie there. Peeta shakes, and I repeat what I did before with my fingernails over his stomach. We both groan and Peeta presses his hips into me again, but it's not close enough.

There are too many layers. I was in my tights, and him in his pants. I reached my hands between our bodies as we kissed, bringing them to the button of Peeta's pants. He paused.

"Your turn," I told him quietly before he could say anything. Peeta nodded and made to sit back to undo his pants but I stopped his hand. "I want to do it."

Peeta looked like he was going to leap at me, but he stayed where he was. "Then come do it, Katniss."

Peeta's hands immediately went to my hips, one sliding back to grip my backside softly, making me press my hips into him and groan a little. I kissed Peeta for a few more seconds before I pressed my hands into his chest for balance and pushed myself up and wrapped my thighs around his, forcing his body to press against mine, causing me to make a small noise.

Peeta's eyes racked over me, and I felt self-conscious but I pushed it down. I brought my hands to Peeta's pants, my wrists brushing the bulge there and making Peeta groan. I undid the button quickly and the zipper, making my fingers heavier than they needed to be. I didn't know how to touch Peeta, so I didn't want to make a conscious effort to, but he still seemed to like my hands brushing against him like this.

My stomach twisted and my body rushed at the thought of what I was doing. I tried to remind myself that we've done this before, only difference being this time we were going much more slower.

Peeta was wearing something black and soft under his pants, because the back of my hand brushed the fabric when I brought the zipper down. I gathered my nerve and slipped my hands inside his pants sliding them back to his hips, back until I could reach no further because Peeta was lying down.

I wasn't Peeta. I wasn't six-foot-three and two-hundred and thirty pounds of muscle. I couldn't just lift him when I wanted him to move.

"Lift up, Peeta," I told him quietly, looking up to find his eyed watching me so hard it made me want to throw myself back at him. He obeyed me, lifting his hips off the bed. My hands slid back further, back past where I had touched before, and my stomach twisted pleasurably before I pulled the pants down. Peeta's legs were amazing, strong and muscled and I was so aroused that it took all of me to not jump back on top of him.

"Katniss—" Peeta struggled. "I don't— I don't want to be rude—" he says, thrusting his hips against mine. "But can I please get you out of these pants?" His look is so chivalrous, I want to laugh, but it wasn't quite right in this moment. I shimmy out of my black tights and throw them at the wall where all the pictures lie.

Peeta is hard beneath me, and the fact that I make him like this wills me to continue. I grab a hold of his boxers and practically yank them off his body. Peeta blushes for a few moments but recovers quickly, realizing that he can now do what he has wanted for the past however minutes we have been going at this.

He places his hands at my hips and expertly flips us over so he has dominant position. I don't mind. In the bedroom, Peeta can have all the dominance he wants. It's only when I'm hunting when I need to be Alpha. For now, Peeta can have all the power he wants.

The very tip of Peeta pressed inside me and all I felt was immeasurable pleasure surging through my veins. I was so alive, full of something I didn't have a name too, and desperately wanted it to continue.

Peeta was breathing hard through his nose and teeth, his arms braced on either side of me held tense. I realized I was breathing obnoxiously too. Peeta slid in a little further and our breathing got more ragged. I bit back my gasp as the pleasure amounted.

"You okay, Katniss?" Peeta always asks this question when he enters me, like I'll feel violated. Sometimes when I have an episode, I'll shout out that he violates my body every night, but then I just come back apologizing.

"No, no, Peeta, it's okay," I panted, trying to bring him as deep as possible. Peeta nodded and held himself tight above me as I tried to relax my racing heart and heat through my blood. I could feel Peeta inside me, large and hot and stretching and his hips pressed against mine. I could feel how connected we were. It scared me sometimes.

But tonight was for him so I spread my legs wider to accommodate him, and caused his eyes to roll back.

"Tell me," he licked his lips. "Tell me if you want to stop." I didn't say anything because I didn't want him to, but I was still stuck with a strange, unrecognizable panic when I felt Peeta begin to pull back out of me. I closed my ankles around his back, crossing them and keeping him from pulling out any further. He was almost completely out now.

"Don't, Peeta," I pleaded with him, shocked with the desperation in my voice. I had him, I didn't want him to go. I didn't want him to disappear like my childhood, and Prim. "Don't leave."

"Don't worry, Katniss," Peeta said, his voice sexy, and rough with sex. He slid smoothly back into me in one movement that I groaned outwardly. "I'm coming back. I'll never leave you," I oh'd into Peeta's ear and slid my hand down his back.

"You feel so amazing Katniss," Peeta said roughly in my ear. "I- ah," I watched Peeta's face, tense with pleasure, his blue eyes intense as he slowly slid back out of me. I didn't panic, knowing he'd come back.

"Go faster," I groaned out, threading my fingers through his hair.

Peeta complied, speeding up a bit, his hips finding a rhythm, not as slowly but still nearly as unbearable. Then Peeta shifted a little, bracing his knees on the bed different as he slid back in and he touched that place inside me. Not only that, but the stroke pressed him all the way in, his hips pressing directly into my favorite place that, if things kept up at this place, I was about to come. I gasped his name against him and arched my back hard, my breasts brushing his chest not helping matters. Peeta was already sliding back in and he did it again.

I crushed my mouth to his to try and distract myself. Peeta broke away from the kiss and started his way down my neck, never giving up his rhythm. Then he bit down softly on my neck, pulling my skin past his teeth to caress it with his tongue at the same time he pressed back inside me and I moaned. Peeta sucked the skin of my neck gently for a few moments before he released it, running the flat of his tongue over it as to sooth it.

I was breathing horribly, and Peeta lifted his head to kiss the furrow between my brows as if to release the tension there.

"Are you —" I struggled. "Are you close?"

"I—yeah—I—"he managed to get out. Peeta rocked his hips against mine, and I was grasping at his blond locks, as if to absorb all the gold in them and bring his sent until it settled deep within my body. My back arched high and my body clenched around Peeta, to the point where it was almost painful but I was beyond that. Peeta took his hands from my face and clutched the sheets beside my head, and started thrusting into me, hard. It wasn't rough but it was defiantly hard. Raw, desperate need for release. After five more of these thrusts, Peeta froze above me, sheathed completely inside me and I knew what was happening. Peeta's hips started to thrust again after a second but they were broken, rhythm less.

"Katniss . . ." Peeta moaned. He gave me a passionate, sweaty, open-mouthed kiss as I felt his arms fall and his hair finally fall around him again. I felt Peeta soften inside of me then he slowly slid out, but I didn't feel empty this time. I felt like I was carrying something worth carrying. Which is shocking, considering I find practically nothing worth my time lately besides Peeta.

He rolls over off me, and this is where Peeta grabs me in his arms and coddles me. It's strange that I find this simple caressing a violation of my emotions, after what we've just done, but I can't help it. It's like it's embedded in the very make-up of my genes to stray away from any sort of emotional bonding.

"Are you happy?" This question is new. Peeta gazes down at me and I am wrapped in his warm glow.

"Yes," I respond, not knowing what else to say. So I continue with what I think is what one would say after what we just did. "Was it good for you?"

"Of course," he says with a roll of his eyes. "What kind of question is that Katniss? Of course it was good for me. Just sitting and knitting scarves with you would be enough for me," I laugh deep within my chest and it feels good. These times after I'm with Peeta are when I'm able to laugh. The doctors think I have lost the ability to, but they don't know about my secret medicine on the side: Peeta.

I stretch my legs out as far as they will, and brush my toes against Peeta's calves. His legs are extremely sexy, more than his arms which is a lot to say, coming from me. They're so defined and the hair there is darker than on his head, and something about how I love the way my legs look entwined with his.

His arms settle around me, and I suppress the urge to pull away. Tonight is for Peeta, and as much as I enjoyed and retained that happiness from our activities, I will not run away like I usually do. I will fall asleep with him, and let him see me at my most venerable, as much as I despise it.

Peeta runs his fingers through my hair which must have come undone when I didn't notice it. I try not to purr out in content, because that would be embarrassing.

"Are you spending the night?" Peeta asks me this this every evening, but because I'm so sought out to show him I'm here for him I nod my head.

"Wait, what was that? I can't tell if your nodding or shaking your head," I smile into his chest. My baker.

"I said, yes," I pull myself closer to his body to try and keep this warmth in my chest from leaving. He is surprised, and I am glad, for there is nothing much to be surprised about anymore in our routines.

"I love—" Peeta starts than sighs.

"You can say it Peeta," I whisper.

"What?" He asks incredulous.

"You can say it if you want. I promise—" I swallow. "I promise I won't get mad." I can feel his stare on the top of my head and pray that I didn't trigger some manic episode in him with this sudden wrench in our routines.

"I just—" he chokes. "I love you," His revives something in me and that warmth I thought I was losing, has come back sevenfold.

"Me—" I struggle to get out, looking up at him for help.

"It's okay," Peeta says with a smile. "I know."


	2. Empty Valley of Your Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: It was a one-shot, but the characters and their turmoil were to ripe of an opportunity to pass up. I just had to continue. Thank you for everyone who reviews, favorites, and importantly, reads. I hope everyone enjoys my take on what I think would happen after the war, yet before the epilogue. There's just so much that needs to be said about the growth of these to characters in the relationship after all the hardships they've gone through. Enjoy!
> 
> This chapter was inspired by "The Cave" by Mumford and Sons.

I'm scared. I'm laying in the dark watching Peeta's back rise and fall with each breath he takes. His cheek is flush against my chest and his breath is warm against my breasts. I run my fingers lazily through his hair. It's soft and golden like wheat in the fields.

I shouldn't have said anything. I shouldn't have tried to change anything. I should have kept my mouth shut and just let Peeta say what he wanted to say, and just been quiet. What was I thinking? That we could just break our routines and ignore the one that was carrying us safely all the way through.

This rut that we've put ourselves in — I hate it. Everyday seems exactly the same; almost as if I could see the future, because all we do is repeat the same routines.

I wiggle myself from the warm arms encasing my body.

"Don't go," Peeta says, pressing his fingers into my flesh. I wiggle again. I am afraid.

"Please don't," Peeta says, more alert now.

"Peeta I—" I struggle to find words. Just get me out of here, please. "I need to go to the bathroom."

"You promise?" He says with desperation.

"Promise," and I force myself to mean it. Peeta rolls over and gives me room. I'm not embarrassed to walk in front of Peeta naked. Well, at least not anymore. The first night I spent at his house was awkward, but Peeta just kissed my ruined flesh and said to embrace them, so I did.

Peeta's bathroom was small and held all the things a man of simplicity like him would need. Every thing on the counters reminded me of him. I ran my fingers over the cool of the porcelain as I looked at myself in the mirror. My hair was loose around my shoulders it's dark contrasting strongly with my usually olive, but now winter skin.

The scars ashamed me, evidence of a battle I had lost. They spread from the tip of my collarbone to the underside of my left breast, and there was a splash of burned skin at my right hip. I leaned forward to the sink and turned the water on. It was freezing against my hands, and I ducked my head under the faucet to let it cool my face.

I should have kept quiet. Now I'm a live wire — coiled and heated and alive with something similar to electricity but more potent and strong. I sat myself down against the tub, rubbing my face with a towel that smelled like Peeta.

Did I take my medicine last night? Did it have enough time to absorb into my blood and get sent to my brain? Why was I so desperate to get out of our routine?

Peeta was waiting for me outside. This idea warmed me more than I was comfortable with. I got up my courage and pushed myself from the tubs' edge. I wasn't going to be a coward because of what I said. Peeta didn't deserve these thought-filled repercussions of mine.

He was still sprawled on the side of the bed, his right arm muscled and covering his eyes from the light of the moon. He took his arm away from his face when I entered.

"You okay?" He asks sleepily. My heart pounds against my ribcage.

"I'm fine," I say aloud, more for my benefit.

"Are you going to come back into bed?"

"Yes," Apart of my wanted to grab my clothes and boots and leave, but another part wanted Peeta to kiss me until he took this unwilling half of me away.

I went to his bed and stretched my body out as if I could grow to his height. Peeta opened his arms to me, and I rolled into them.

"I really liked dinner tonight Katniss," he whispers.

"You're lying," I say more harshly than I intended. "It was disgusting," Peeta ignores me.

"Let's do this more often," Peeta says into my hair. "I really like it. I don't know what about it yet, but everything just seemed so amazing and new, I just—" He breaks off, escaping words.

"I know," I say in reassurance.

"Katniss, I know I–" his voice breaks. "I know I say it often but," I pull away so I can look him in the eye. "I really do love you," he whispers.

My mind is reeling, shaking, and I want Peeta to stop because all of the sudden I can't take those words. When I wanted to be brave and rebel against our routine, I could handle it, but right now I'm the broken girl from The Games, and want Peeta to shut up and hate me for no reason. Hate makes it easier to accept the idea of him leaving me one day.

Which is why I pull away quickly so Peeta won't have a chance to grab me.

"Wait, Katniss, I didn't mean—" I quickly throw my body over the bed and avoid his reaching arm.

"I need to go Peeta," I say grabbing my pants and pulling them on.

"No you don't, you can stay!" Peeta says desperately. I feel like shit.

"I'll see you later today Peeta," I pull me shirt over my head and walk out of his room down the stairs. Peeta is following me.

"You're scared because of what I said! I'm sorry! I should have known—" I interrupt him and than say words I regret now.

"You're naked Peeta. Go upstairs and leave me alone. I don't need you blubbering after me," I feel worse than shit at this point. Peeta is silently looking down, his mouth quivering.

"Bye Katniss," He chokes out. I slam the door behind out of anger. More at myself than him.

I don't know why I treat him like this when I know he doesn't deserve it. I use him, and than leave him like a fucking plastic bag. I'm no better than the Capitol. I deserve the choking of sobs in my throat and the tears that sting my eyes.

My house is the same model as Peeta's yet the only thing is that Peeta's looks homey. Mine is an empty ghost house with little knowledge that someone lives in it. I wish I had his eye for little details and earnest colors. All I can ay for myself is the standard white tarp I threw over the capital issued couch. It's not much and I'm ashamed I can't make it better.

Peeta is sweet, kind, loving, and devoted. Everything anyone would want in a proper suitor. I'm just too broken beyond repair to acknowledge it. I know these things about him, but am unable accept them.

Loneliness is an invisible disease so people don't understand your pain as well as they understand those with broken legs or cut up faces. I want something physical, something people could see on my skin without having to remove my clothes. As much as I resent Peeta's affection, I reserve that most intimate of actions for him, and him alone. Not even Doctors do I allow to see my scars.

I walked towards the sliding doors that lead to the patio outside. As soon as I stepped outside, the cold air hit my skin, and made my cheeks turn red. My lips dried, and my hair blew in the air. I was no longer in the warm comfort of Peeta's arms. I was forcibly stuck in the cold, wet, poverty-ridden tenement.

My hair whipped around my face, scratched at my eyes and moved across my forehead. I closed my eyes and focused on the cold. The warmth crept away from the blood in my neck. I hurriedly unzipped my leather jacket and flung it to the dirty snow beneath my feet, suddenly determined to prove to myself that I could withstand something that I could cause.

I slid down the wall and sat on the ground feeling snow seep through my pants. I kept my arms at my side — refusing to protect myself against the wind. The brick was a stony chill on the back of my t-shirt. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back, breathing in the icy wind.

I saw my family's faces beneath my eyelids. My Dad, Mom, and Prim — emotionless and observant. I felt trash skitter over my fingers and loose newspaper nosily flutter around my head. I felt a few snowflakes tangle in my lashes.

My body began to jerk and convulse, desperate to warm itself up. I couldn't feel my feet anymore. The howling of the wind had turned into a dull hum in my ears.

Eventually, my brain drifted into somewhere between sleep and unconsciousness — placing me into a watery world that was dark, blue, and full of stars. I wasn't thinking, but was aware of everything around me. I was still able to admire it.

Just before you freeze to death, you get a wave of euphoria and a sudden rush of warmth crawls all over your body. It cradles you until you are ready to let go.

I was suddenly yanked out of this euphoria by two strong hands than pinched as they gripped me. Very slowly I tried to open my eyelids, but I couldn't see anything. Everything had turned blurry — like ruined watercolor. I didn't feel the ground beneath my feet anymore. When my vision finally cleared, I saw the strong definition of a jaw line, a flash of an icy blue eye.

And then I didn't feel the wind hitting my skin anymore, and I didn't hear it humming a wordless tune in my ears. I was now aware of my limbs — quaking and jerking, but less violently. I could now feel strands of hair against my cheeks, and melted snowflakes running down my back. Then — like a quick slap to the face — I was suddenly wide awake, choking and coughing on what felt like ice cubes lodged in my throat. I coughed so hard that tears came to my eyes, and I felt someone's arms gently raise me to a sitting position — holding me steady.

When I was sure that the coughing fit was over, I took a few heavy breaths and rubbed my eyes. I felt like I had been under water — like I had been drowning. I shivered violently, and felt porcelain under my fingers.

The buzzing in my ears made it hard to make out, but it didn't take long for me to place it. "Katniss! Katniss, are you alright? Katniss, talk to me!"

I tried, I really did. But my vocal cords wouldn't work. I coughed more, and felt the back of my throat scrape angrily — and I tasted coppery blood in my mouth. My limbs wouldn't stop convulsing and my feet throbbed like they had their own sperate heart beat. The cold had somehow turned into a burn, and stung all over. I withered on the slippery tiles of my house and Peeta tightened his grip on me.

"I need you to stay with me okay?" He said seriously, his voice trembling a little. "Just stay with me Katniss."

I felt like my lungs were being held still by restraints — my breathing desperate. I didn't want to die like this. This was not a pleasant and peaceful way to die. Why did Peeta have to ruin it? I could've died out there in my backyard. I could've let the snow put me gently to sleep and the wind pick me up — it could've tossed me into the skies where I would never have to come back down.

Peeta scooped me up in his arms and my head lolled around uselessly. My body jerked and shook as though I were having a seizure, and my lungs screamed for a deep breath but I just couldn't relieve them.

"Don't panic," He breathed, holding me tightly as he hurried up the stairs, my body bouncing in his arms from the movement. "Stay with me, Katniss," he said again.

I wondered briefly where Peeta was taking me as he bounded the stairs. I was beginning to feel that dreamy tug again — that place full of stars calling back to me. I would have told Peeta to just let me be, if I had the breath.

He kicked open a door and almost tore the hinges off as he flung it open — not bothering to close it as he rushed inside. By then I couldn't even keep my eyes open — I felt myself go limp but by bit.

"Katniss, stay with me!" He yelled this time, his voice sounding desperate.

Once again, I was set down, and heard running shortly after. My body was still convulsing wildly, but was numb to it by then.

I heard clothes drop to the floor — a jacket, a shirt. I felt my own shirt being tugged over my head, and then heard it hit the ground. In one swift movement, he had me cradled in his arms again, and I felt his bare skin press against mine causing an instant slow of warmth. There were splashing sounds, I felt him stumble — then a literal wave of heat washed over my jerking legs and my frozen lungs, pressing against my neck. Already I could feel my heart thawing, coming back to life. I felt his hands on my face, hands on my stomach, hands quickly scooping up pools of warm water and splashing my face.

"Come one, Katniss," I heard Peeta beg, pressing me tightly to himself as he possibly could. I heard the water spill over the edge of the tub and another splash of warmth on my face allowed me to open my eyes.

I saw Peeta's arms wrapped around me like a blanket, his jeans black in the water, my legs in between his, slowly beginning to cease their movements. I wiggled my fingers, relieved to have the feeling back, and my chest to move less rapidly. Peeta rubbed my arms — the friction heating up the remaining cold spots. Finally, I took a huge gulp of air and all the pain ceased in an instant. Tears from the effort and the release tumbled down my cheeks. I coughed out the last of my coughs, sucking down air greedily. I heard Peeta take in a big breath himself.

"Oh my God, Katniss!" He breathed, his grip tightening on me. "Thank God," He laughed, relieved, than rocked me back to comfort. "I don't care what you say, I'm going to say it —"

"Peeta, no —"I croaked out, but he interrupted.

"I love you, and this is never going to happen to you again," His voice quivered. "I swear on my life, you'll never feel this way again."


	3. In Vinculis Etiam Audax

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: There is slight resolution in this chapter, but don't worry, the angst is still ever present. Enjoy!
> 
> This chapter was inspired by Ludovico Einaudi's "A fuoco".

I was sore. My body was aching and my throat felt like it had been rubbed raw with steel wool. My eyes were heavy, like they were filled with dense stones. I wanted to get up, but my body was motionless, stuck in a forever place of pain. It took all my effort to swing my legs over the bed and get my feet planted firmly on the ground. I could only imagine the effort it would take to walk the steps into the bathroom.

The events of last night rushed into my mind.

I'd never been one for suicidal thoughts. I usually frowned down upon them, which is why I couldn't wrap my head around why I would try to purposefully get hypothermia. Right now, I think about all the tings I'd be leaving behind, and it seems ridiculous, what I did. But, I can't explain it. I had control again.

Then I remembered Peeta. Why had he come to my house anyway? Why in that moment? Now he sees me more weak and pathetic than he began with. I closed my eyes, and tried to calm the anger at myself. Nothing good will come out of this self-loathing. It will only make me feel worse.

The walk to the bathroom was tedious, and when I entered, I suddenly wish I hadn't. The evidence of a recent trauma was present in the air, and hanging on the soaking towels piled in the corner. In sudden desperation, Peeta must have thrown me into a tub of hot water to warm my quaking limbs and frozen heart. And then he cleaned up the mess.

My breath caught in my throat. He saved me, even though it would have been easier for him to just leave me there. His affection stung me. I wish he hadn't because now I can't handle this insecurity I have over myself. The one time I didn't want to depend on anyone, I ended up doing, and it was unintentional.

I turned away from the bathroom and walked into the closet and threw on some clothes that seemed like they matched. Bending down to put on my boots hurt, and my abdomen was painfully contracting in protest. I walked down the stairs one at a time and had to stop several times to clench my teeth at the pain.

After all the pain it took to reach the front of the door, I wondered why I would even bother to shrug on my jacket and head outside into the freezing December air. But I knew why.

The cold stark white snow was suffocating the baby green grass. It withered, cried and screamed in pain with lack of oxygen it was receiving. I hate winter. With its dead silences and the way nothing thrives — it's disgusting. Hunting is a pain, when it should be a joy, and the only place to get warm is either under the covers or in Peeta's bakery. I prefer the bed, but it was midday. I wouldn't want to concern the Doctor's more than I already have, with all the events that occurred last night.

Peeta's bakery was golden on the street. The pastries in the window, were on display like edible tributes. As soon as I walked in, I could smell the sharp cinnamon and soft sugar hanging in the air. I saw Peeta from behind and admired the way his back bent and curved, putting ginger snaps in the oven. He spoke.

"Hi, welcome to Mellark's, I'm—" he turned and stopped speaking. He had the look of the deer I hunt in the forests, wide eyed and mouth frozen. Only Peeta had dark circles.

"Hi Peeta," I croaked out, trying to sound normal.

"Katniss you shouldn't be here," he turned back to his oven and punched in some numbers. I twist my hands awkwardly in front of me.

"I just— I want to say —" Peeta isn't up for this, I should just leave.

"Spit it out Katniss, I'm working," His jagged words are like a slap to the face.

"Thank you," I say. His eyes soften only a little bit.

"You're welcome," He bites out. I'm not welcome here, I should leave. Now. I start to turn away, limping. I hear Peeta take a deep sigh.

"Why'd you do it Katniss?" It takes a moment for me to realizes he's talking to me, not dismissing me like I expected him to. I turn around to see him looking at me his eyes hot and I look down to avoid his gaze. It hurts.

"I don't know Peeta, I just—" he doesn't give me a chance to finish.

"You just what? Think that no one will miss you? What about your Mother, Gale, Me, or Prim? Do you think she'd want you to kill yourself? You think she died just to see you die too?" The last part hurt, and I flinched even though nothing was thrown.

"No Peeta —" He shakes his head as if to get water out of his ears.

"You know what Katniss? I can't handle this right now. Please leave," My chest hurts, and I feel like he just threw an uppercut to my ribs. He's breathing deep.

"Okay, Peeta," I say, tears cutting my eyes. I turn around again and push open the bakery door. Peeta has set up small bistro-style chairs and tables in front so merchants and men with money can sit and eat their scones while admiring the ghetto tenement. I sit down to rest my body. The metal of the chair is cold against my back and I silently wish that Peeta won't notice me sitting in front of his business. Nothing distracts costumers more than a suicidal, former tribute. The door of the bakery dings behind me. A cup of tea is placed in front of me. Peeta makes his way around, his own tea in his hands.

"I'm sorry," Peeta says has he sits down in front of me.

"Peeta I'm sorry about last night," I offer, trying to soothe his anger he has with me.

"Katniss, why would you do something like that?" He asks again, softer this time.

"I don't — I don't know," I come up with.

"Did you think about Gale?" I know bringing up Gale bothers him, which just shows the effort he's making here at trying to find my motives. "I mean your Mom, she'd have been devastated," I nod my head in agreement.

"I don't know Peeta, I just needed something—" I cough and instantly regret it.

"Drink your tea," Peeta offers. "It'll help," I do, and am glad he brought it out here. It's warm with peppermint and honey and soothes as it goes down.

"I needed something to feel," I continue.

"But did you think what that could have done to your life Katniss? Get a tattoo, or run a mile, but don't just go out trying to kill yourself," He says, anger once again taking over. I sit quietly waiting for him to calm down. He looks at me with pain-ridden eyes.

"Do you know what that would have done to me?" He says, and the wound in his voice makes me wish I had followed through with my actions just because his voice is hurting me so much. "I mean, Katniss," his mouth gapes and he turns to me. "I don't know what I'd do without you. I know you think you don't mean anything to anybody, but you mean the world to me."

I struggle to find words that will make Peeta feel better, but truth is, I don't know why I did it. I didn't need attention, I get that from Peeta. I don't need a lover, I have Peeta. I wonder why I never consider him good enough.

"I'm so sorry Peeta," I'm holding back tears. "I really— I just— I won't do it again."

"You promise?" His words revive through me.

"I swear," And this time I don't have to force it. It comes natural like shooting an arrow. Voluntary and unprompted. I wish all my promises could be like this. Peeta sighs like a weight has been lifted off him.

"How's your body?" He asks, differing the topic from a serious to more lighter topic.

"It hurts," I say simply. "More than it did after the Games."

"We had Capitol medicine back then," He points out.

"Did you tell the Doctors?" I ask, pushing my finger around the edge of the cup.

"No," I look up in surprise. "I thought about it, don't get me wrong. But, I didn't want you to be on more medication. You're on enough as it is," It warms me that Peeta is taking care of my wellbeing like this. He deserves so much from me.

I think back to all the medicines different Doctors have prescribed for me for different things. Mood stabilizers, sleep medications, anti-anxiety, little purple and blue pills for headaches. Sometimes I forgot, sometimes I take too much. It was all out of control sometimes, and it's nice that Peeta has noticed.

"Thank you Peeta," I look at him, and his eyes turn my stomach. "For everything," He nods and continues to look at me. I feel the words bubbling to the surface before I can stop them. Like hot water in a kettle, and lightening before the thunder, it came unwilling and expected.

"I love you," Peeta blushes and looks down at his tea.

"Last time you tried to say that Katniss you went home and tried to kill yourself. Don't say it if you're going to be stupid after," All I feel is anger, rage, and indignation.

"Stop it, Peeta," I can't believe I led him to this point. Let myself delude him to the point where he won't even believe me when I tell him I love him. The routines have become embedded in our souls and minds that I resorted to death to escape them, and to the point where Peeta can't accept my three words. I get up from my chair and make my way to where he sits. I crouch down, and my thighs scream, but I ignore them. I take his warm face in my hands and feel the bone beneath the stretch of skin.

"I love you Peeta," I kiss him on his full lips. "I will never hurt you again, I promise. I swear on my life," I kiss him again. "You will never feel conflicted ever again." Peeta is crying now, and I kiss them as if to absorb all of his saltwater tears in my body and be able to hold them in my heart. He wraps his arms around my waist and stands up so I can lean my head against his chest. We stand like this for a few moments.

"Thank you, Katniss," he says, calm again. I look up at him and speak words I have been wanting to say.

"Do you want to go upstairs, Peeta?" I pull away from his chest, and gaze up at him.

"I'd love to Katniss," he says kissing my nose. "But I'm pretty sure your body can't handle that right now," I scrunch up my nose and he laughs. He scoops me up in his arms and, opening the bakery door, takes giant strides to get to his upstairs room where he sleeps when he has an episode.

Peeta held me in his arms, and for the first time in awhile, I saw hope. Pure, undiluted hope that we could be better than what our lives have played out to be. He laid us on the bed he keeps up here. Peeta's hands skimmed over my thighs as if to fix the pain there, than reached behind me to grab my backside. I moaned into his mouth and Peeta laughed.

"Peeta, please," I breathed.

"No Katniss, your body is to weak for that," I groaned outwardly as if to change Peeta's mind.

All of the sudden Peeta's hands slipped from my behind to my front, just in between my hips and I breathed into his neck.

"Stop me if you need to," he whispered, and then his mouth was on mine.

He kissed me with such slow intensity that I soon got lighthearted. His fingers playing across my breasts didn't help either. I lost track of time. Minutes, hours, days, it all turned into the same thing. I don't think it could have been that long though, because my lust was still at a manageable amount. Relatively manageable, at least.

I wanted to feel Peeta's skin against mine, for our stomachs to rub together as we kissed and I wanted to explore his chest with my hands. I wanted to feel his stomach, to trace that line where his hips dip into the hem of his pants. But when I reached to tug Peeta's shirt up, he stopped me.

"No, Katniss," he said against my lips.

"Why?"

"Don't — don't worry about me," he said, his tongue doing things to my lips. "Just feel."

"I am," I gasped, my body on fire. I was doing nothing if not feeling. "I am feeling, I want to feel you Peeta."

"No Katniss," Peeta said firmly, kissing the corners of my lips. "Trust me when I say no. This is for you."

I gave a whimper that was my concession and gripped my fingers in Peeta's hair as his lips began to slowly make their way down my neck. His hand slipped out from under my shirt and came back to cup my breast from over the top of it.

The pressure between my legs was at a breaking point. It was kind of getting hard to breathe. I wasn't really aware of anything around me besides Peeta. My body took up small, insistent movement, creating a rhythm, pressing myself against Peeta's stomach over and over, and it helped.

After a few more minutes, Peeta's hand slowly slid back from under my shirt and made its way down. He gently gripped my backside, than turned towards my front so he was holding my hips.

Peeta shifted, his mouth coming off me as he pulled himself up to face me. He lifted his body off me so we weren't touching anymore and my body cried out in dissatisfaction, attempting to come up off the bed after him. Peeta's finger twitched on my hip, running over my hipbone and my body bucked again. He leaned until our lips brushed.

"Can I touch you, Katniss? Are you feeling alright?" I gave the smallest of nods. Peeta kissed me softly. Peeta didn't need to ask if what he was doing felt good or not, he knew my body so well, he could predict my actions before they happened. Peeta kissed me again, slower than earlier, but just as heatedly and his hand slowly slid over to the place on my body I'd only let him touch. Then his fingers brushed down, just the tiniest bit, and I forgot where I was.

I gasped against Peeta's mouth and pushed myself forward into his hand. I had never felt anything so amazing than Peeta's hands on me.

Peeta's lips disappeared from mine. "Is this. . . Okay?"

His fingers rubbed again, down lower this time and it was amazing.

"Just like that," I managed, rolling my head back onto the pillows. I was again, the girl on fire. "Harder."

"Harder?"

"Yes, Peeta, please," I know he was trying to go gentle considering my fragile state, but I needed him to move faster. "Kiss me Peeta," And like always Peeta gave me what I needed.

He obeyed me in both aspects, kissing me and applying more pressure, stroking me with his fore and middle fingers. I kissed Peeta a frantically, losing control of myself in a way I hadn't before. Our tongues tangled and there were lips and teeth, biting pinching, and licking.

I pulled Peeta down against me harder than before pressing our chests firmly together. Peeta found a rhythm with his fingers than I followed, rolling my hips with in turn and nearly biting his lip every time he pressed forward again. My body began to spur me onward, more strongly than before and again I was climbing. I pulled away from Peeta's lips and watched his eye. It was amazingly sexy to watch his face as he touched me, so concentrated and handsome. His blue eyes were on fire, offsetting his chiseled features.

He circled his fingers. I climbed higher.

"Faster please," I nearly whined.

Peeta complied, leaning down to kiss and suck at my neck as he did so. I was reminded with a jolt how his lips had felt against my breasts. As though Peeta had read my mind, his lips continued down the slope of my chest until he had pulled my left nipple into his mouth.

I flew up than, instead of climbing. I felt as though I was teetering on the precipice of something, like I was standing at the very top of a building and waiting to fling myself off. It was too much, knowing that the man I loved, and finally acknowledging this love, was creating this immense pleasure.

"Pee-ta!"

That was about all my mouth could handle at the moment. Then Peeta's teeth scraped past my nipple as he released my breast from his mouth. His fingers pressed against me faster, harder, rougher than they had before.

"I love you so fucking much, Katniss."

I flung myself over.


	4. Walk Away From The Sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is a short one, I'm sorry, but it's for good reason. The chapters are going to be significantly longer next time around, I just had to post this, it's been on my mind for days now. Please read and review! Enjoy!
> 
> This chapter was influnced by Seether's "Walk Away From The Sun".

I wake up to the sun peaking through the curtains, and its warm rays heating up my body. Peeta is pressed against my back, his chest crushed against my vertebrae, and his hot breath is conscious at my neck. I stretch my boy and point my toes as if I could reach Peeta's full height. I feel Peeta stir behind me and his arms hold me tighter.

"Please don't tell me it's morning," he says. I smile. My Peeta.

"It's morning," I turn my head and kiss him on his sleepy mouth. His eyes are still shut. I pull the crisp sheets off our naked bodies and Peeta shivers.

"Katniss, some warning would be nice," He says accusingly as I get up from the bed ad Peeta's body. As much as I've stripped myself of routines and fear of love, I am still the girl that turns away from physical contact.

I don't think I'll ever change that.

Peeta rolls over on his back so he is facing the ceiling. He has no covers to cover himself. I raise my eyebrows. Peeta's not a small guy.

"What?" He asks. I nod my head in the direction of his unclad body. He looks down sheepishly. "Oh come on," He says. "Don't tell me you don't like it," I throw a pillow at his head. Peeta can be too self-righteous sometimes. He laughs.

"I wish every morning was like this," He says. This is a rare moment for us. We hardly talk after sex, let alone giggle and crack jokes like District 1 newly weds.

"Well," I awkwardly staring at my feet. I am naked. "I'm going to get ready," I turn pick up my clothes from the floor before Peeta interrupts me.

"Do you want to do something together today?" I cringe, even though he can't see me. As much as I am now partaking in these "glowing" mornings, I physically want to be alone. I know it will hurt Peeta, but I need a moment for myself. I don't know how to balance relationships. Too me couples are either together too much, or too little. And I don't know where Peeta and I lie just yet.

"I think I'm going to go hunting today," I say over my shoulder as I slip on my clothes. Peeta watches me with hungry eyes. My stomach churns.

"Can I watch you?" He asks. I scoff at him.

"Peeta, you and I both know you aren't quiet enough," I don't want to sound harsh but it does.

"Blame the leg," He says, ignoring the cut in my voice. I pull my shirt over my head, and reach to grab my boots across the room. In the moment I don't realize it, but next time we have sex, I'm going to put my clothes in a nice pile.

Peeta stretches on the bed, still naked and not modest, gets up and throws on his shorts. He stands in font of me before I bend up. I stare at his feet. One fake and plastic, the other real and tan. I brought myself up slowly, purposefully brushing my nose against the bulge in his shorts. Peeta's breath hitches in his throat.

Peeta growled and I brushed my lips against him, but before I could push my luck any further, he snatched me up his body. I immediately threw my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist to steady myself and his hands gripped my backside hard. He connected our lips passionately, kissing me hard for a few seconds as I ground myself up against him.

"Are you trying to tease me, Katniss?" He asked against my lips in a voice that made me shiver. I just nodded against his mouth and gasped when his hands gripped me roughly. "You wouldn't like it very much if I teased you."

"I don't think you know how, Peeta."

"Really?" He asked. "We'll see about that," I shuddered with anticipation and a little fear as Peeta walked us over to the bed and laid me down. He kneeled between my legs, and kissed me. The way he kissed me was strange though, deepening and lightening the kiss at strange, unpredictable times.

Peeta's hands came to my t-shirt I just put on, and tugged it up over my breasts, pulling away from my body. I lifted my arms to help him. He took my shirt off the same way he kissed me though, in a pattern I couldn't understand. He dropped my shirt to the ground and pushed me back onto the bed, grabbing my thigh and setting it over his hip, rocking them into me.

His hands slid down my arms, his fingernails leaving trails of pink lines down their path. My breath hitched in my throat.

"Peeta —" I breathe. "Go faster," Peeta didn't reply, just slid his hands up my thighs and between my pants. He was touching me, and I anticipated what was next. He slid one finger inside of me. I almost cried out. He added a second finger, and then a third quickly. But he was going to slow. His thumb brushed against my favorite spot.

"Peeta — please —" I whimper. "You know how okay? You know how to tease me," I beg.

"You don't believe that," he says, and he pushes his fingers further into me.

"Peeta," I gasp.

"Beg, Katniss," He pulls his fingers out, than slowly back in. I'm shocked at this side of Peeta, this need of male reassurance coming from him.

"Please, Peeta" I manage. "Please, you know —" I breathe obnoxiously. "How to tease,"

"So what do you want me to do," he asks, slowly pulling out of me.

"Go faster!" I scream, and he chuckles softly, but complies. He creates a rhythm that he knows my body can handle and with every return, he brushes his thumb against me.

It's not long until I'm withering, for the second time in less than twenty-four hours under him. When Peeta pulls his fingers out, I close my eyes and rest my head against the pillows and laugh.

I wanted to go hunting, and instead Peeta gives me pleasure. The Doctors warned me about creating an obsession after losing Prim. They told me my "adverse behavior" would be likely to "create an addiction". I wonder if they knew it would be to my fellow partner in the arena. I wonder if they knew it's be his sex.

"Peeta," I whine. "I wanted to go out today."

"Sorry," He smiles sheepishly and kisses the furrow between my brows. I am suddenly angry. Ragingly angry that Peeta has distracted me like this. I want to punch him right in his stupid mouth for distracting me. I imagine it — my fist connecting with his chiseled jaw and how the bones would feel, smashed under my fist.

"Get off me," I whisper before I do any damage.

"What?" Peeta asks.

"I said get off me!" I push his body away and watch his flabbergasted look as he rolls across the mattress. I lean down and grab my leather jacket.

"Katniss — what?"

"Shut up Peeta!" I sneer. "Just fucking shut up!"

"Katniss — what's —" His look is pissing me off.

"I told you to SHUT THE FUCK UP!" I scream. Peeta flinches back and I can see the hurt written in his eyes.

"You think you're so self-righteous, don't you?" I ask him.

"No — Katniss —" He starts, I stare him down until he shuts up.

"You are nothing," I whisper. "You would be nothing without me."

I feel nothing. I am in another world one where fighting exists as pleasure and there are no rules. I quickly exist the bedroom door and slam it behind me. I feel better instantly, leaving Peeta behind — like scratching an itch you didn't know you had.

I feel better, like I just took a big stretch and released unwanted tension. The air is crisp outside, still in it's never ending state of winter. I wish it was spring. I'm upset at Peeta. Why did he have to distract me like that? Why couldn't he have just left me to my plans of the day, and let me be? Why does he always have to fucking sidetrack me like a child?

I sigh, and shake my shoulders and jog to the fence. After the rebellion, they decided to cut the electricity from the District fences, so I easily slip through my spot, and grab my stashed bow and arrows. The ferns were squishy beneath my feet, and snow was still present in little patches everywhere like the plague.

I walked until I was deep in the forest and hidden beneath the shadows of the trees. Last thing I need is for someone to recognize me. I heard a noise behind me I drew back my bow, and slowly turned around. It was a squirrel. A small, insignificant creature, that held little meat to work with.

It was better than nothing.

I pulled back my arrow hard and released the pull. Right in between the eyes. I'm never cocky, but I feel arrogant right now. Like nothing can touch me. I walked over and picked up my kill. It was a surge of power.

Instant gratification.

My mind shook itself. Something was wrong.

Not. Normal.

Something was happening. I don't just hurt people I love.

No.

That's wrong.

What?

When did a kill equal power?

I dropped the kill and held my temples. My head was throbbing and I couldn't hear anything except the pounding of my heart in my ears. I stumbled against a tree. Something was horribly wrong. I braced my hands against the moss covered tree and sunk to my knees. I screamed in pain.

What was wrong? I don't want to die. Not anymore. No, no, no. I need to think of things to live for, that will get me trough this. Peeta's icy lemonade on Summer days, my Mother's warm smile, Gale and his snares, warm scones from the bakery.

I screamed again.

This is where I was going to die. With blood coming from my ears, and dreadfully alone. My tears were stinging my ears, but compared to the roar of pain in my head, it was like a velvet touch. I lay on the ground and stop screaming. If I accept this fate, maybe my pain will go away. This is how I will die.

Warm palms grab my shoulders. I hear something. Like makeshift words, all murmuring and watery. I am afraid to open my eyes, the light is hurting my head. I peel my lids back slowly and see a fitted black t-shirt and a blond head.

Peeta?

Oh, no.

He will see me die, and this will only hurt him more. Why did I say those things today? What was happening? I took my pills. I took them all. Why am I in agony. I want to drift off.

Peeta 's mouth is in constant motion, almost as if he were sucking in huge gulps of air. I can barely hear anything. All I hear is the roar of my heartbeat. Peeta has lifted us up and the jogging motions are shaking my head back and forth causing more pain. I yell out for him to stop.

He stops suddenly and there is a soft fabric beneath my body. Am I on a mattress? I open my eyes and I am on my couch. My vision starts to blur and all I can make out is faint glows of light. I am screaming now. My hearing is gone, now my vision, what other senses can I afford to loose? I reach out for something and feel Hands press against mine and I run my fingers over the arms.

Peeta's here.

He will save me.

I yell out for him to save me. Save me please, I can't handle this, I want to see you, please, please.

His hands are opening my mouth. What? What? Something is poured down my throat and it's a disgusting mixture of salt, lemon and something medical. I sputter and try to spit it out but Peeta's hands force my jaw shut and some comes out of my nose before I have no choice but to swallow.

I am scared. I don't want to die. I want to live and see my children and see Peeta grey haired at my side. I want to see sunrises, and the ocean. I want to feel the awful bite of snow in my palms and the feel of soft grass between my fingertips.

So I speak. Even though I'm sure my voice is broken. I tell Peeta I love him, and how much he has saved me, and how no matter what I will love him where ever I go, and I'll always be with him. Tell my Mother I love her, and tell Gale I never forgot him. Have a drink with Haymitch for me, make it count.

And importantly, live for me. Live without concession, and love everything you have in your life Peeta, because it's so beautiful. Have children, see them grow into adults, and love them unconditionally.

I want you to forget the Games Peeta, and grow into the man that you were meant to be. Don't let anything stop you from being the man you are, never doubt yourself, always remember how much I loved you. Know I will never forget you, you were such a part of my life.

I'll love you forever Peeta, never forget me.


	5. Folded, Unfolding, Unfolded

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'm updating this all in the same day so it's up to sync with my FanFiction.net site :)
> 
> The song I used for inspiration in this chapter is "Colorblind" by Counting Crows.

My body started sore. Weak and painful, but after Peeta and his medical concoction , I am warm and content. My body no longer ached, it was if my flesh was made of water, and soothed instead of recognizing unwanted agony. We don't know what happened to me, the Doctors suggest an overdose of my mood-stablizers. Peeta has now taken to adminstering my medicine himself. We are laying on the bed in his bakery.

Peeta's fingers are drawing things on my shoulder.

"Why do you draw invisible things on my skin, Peeta?" I ask looking up at him, he smiles a lazy smile.

"Because your skin is like my canvas," He says, leaning over to kiss where his fingers once were. My heart is filled with so much love I wonder if Peeta can feel it. It's practically painful, containing it in my chest.

I run my hands over the expanse of his chest over his shirt. I wish he was bare. Peeta is much more admirable half naked. Clothed Peeta is to restrained for me.

"Peeta," I whine tugging on his shirt.

"No Katniss," he says shaking his head. I pout and he kisses my mouth.

"When you're better," he offers. I continue pouting. Peeta exaggeratingly rolls his eyes, and nuzzles my neck with his nose.

"I'm going to sleep Katniss,"

"You won't be comfortable sleeping on me Peeta," I point out, and try to move away from his arms so he can sleep. He grips my hips tightly.

"No," he says pulling me close so I am crushed against his chest. "There is seriously, no place I'd rather be," He closes his eyes and rests his head on the pillow above me. I listen to his breathing for a long time, and wait until I his breathing slows.

When Peeta sleeps, he screams. He screams really loud, and I don't think he knows I know it. Sometimes he mumbles words — repeats them over, and over again. When he's done screaming he cries. I wake him up, if I'm there, but if he's in his own house or in the bakery I don't bother. Because right after he cries he gets up and has a manic episode he won't remember. I try to wake him up before that.

Most of the time, I don't mention to Peeta what happens because I know he wants to play protector, and be the "man". I'm probably damaging something psychologically but not telling him I know what happens, but when he wakes up and sees the destruction his house is in — that's enough to affirm, I believe. He's doesn't need me to acknowledge it.

Peeta has all sorts of little episodes at night. During the day Peeta is relatively fine, unless I trigger something, for example, running my fingers over his thighs. They must have done something to traumatize him, because every time I try to grab him, he hyperventilates.

But sleep is Peeta's biggest weakness. No matter how many sleeping pills the Doctors prescribe him, he's never well rested. He always has permanent dark circles and deep yawns and sighs. I wish I could make it better for him, and take the nightmares away, but he never wants to share.

I wish he would. Even though a part of me wants to push him away, this loving new part of me wants to make him feel better and take the pain away. Sometimes after I wake him up, he has this primitive look in his eyes and then his body twits in all different sort of angles, and I know to leave. Than others, he just fits me into his body as if we could become one.

So when Peeta starts to scream and sweat, I shake his shoulders and wiggle myself out of his arms but he has me locked. I'm suddenly very afraid for the first time in a long while with Peeta. I shake harder.

"Peeta!" I yell. Harder. "PEETA!" His eyes fly open, a wild blue and stay on my face. His eyes are manic. Oh. Shit.

"What are you doing here?" He sneers. Pushing his face away from mine. I wiggle my body free.

"Peeta — you're reacting negatively," I try to think of Doctors words as I back myself slowly off the mattress. "You're distorting reality again," Good. Continue. "Your amygdala is reacting with you frontal lobe," I'm off the mattress and on my feet. Peeta is sitting on the bed, his eyes still flashing him different perceptions. He's scaring me.

"Katniss —" he's gulping in air like a newborn. "Leave," I grab my jacket off the floor and hurriedly run down the stairs. I try to avoid this maternal reaction to comfort him. He told me to leave, and if Peeta tells me to leave it's a bad one. I flinch as I hear a dresser being toppled over. I make my way into the bitter air and walk as fast as my now, knowledgably known, sore legs can go. I can't seem to get to my house fast enough. As soon as I get inside I slam the door and sink to the floor. I out my sleeve in my mouth and scream.

Nothing will ever change will it? I can lead myself to believe over and over again that maybe one day things will get better, but they all end the same way — hopeless and unmanageable. I wish I had a different fate. One that didn't have me alone time and time again. I wish I had a life that, though difficult, and hard, normal girls had. Who didn't have to deal with an emotionally unstable boyfriend and an abundance of unnecessary mood swings.

I wish Peeta could come home and see me cooking for him, and have clean house to walk into. I wish I could grab him and tell him to make love to me, without him suffocating from lack of oxygen to his brain ad lungs.

I wish for so many things, and wonder if anyone can hear me. I feel as though, quite literally, I am alone. Peeta is there for me, I feel him in my bones, and when he's inside me, I sometimes never want him to pull out.

Morbid, I know.

I can't help it. He's like this reflection of my soul. I shared my most intimate of actions with him. Even though I wish he was normal, and healthy, I'm silently glad he isn't. I know it's wrong, and selfish, but I can relate to him more than I can with anyone else on that close-soul level.

I banged my head back against the door and cried. Why couldn't my life be in working order? Why couldn't it be right? Why do I say things with the intention to hurt and be little people? Especially people I love. Why do I say hurtful things to people I'm the closest to? Is it because I'm angry at myself, or because I'm angry that they know my deepest of secrets?

I want answers. I don't want a pill or a therapy session. I want someone to tell me what my sickness is so I can put a label on it. Things are easier to manage when they have a name. They're less of a personal thing , and are easier to hate. I want badly to hate this thing inside me.

I want Peeta to get better. He deserves so much. Form saving me in the Games, to saving me last night. He deserves everything my soul has, and everything I can offer him. I get up off the floor and wipe my cheeks and eyes. I need to be brave and do what Peeta needs of me. Which is why I get up off my dirty floor and run back into the bakery where a woman with a fur coat stands ringing the bell. I hear Peeta thrashing upstairs.

"Mellark's is closed," I say as politely as I can, breathless from the run. She has brown hair and skin as golden as the sand dunes. Her chinchilla fur coat is white and I want to crumble Peeta's gingersnaps all over it.

"I'm sorry do you work here?" She asks. She snoots her face upwards.

"No, I don't," She downgrades me by the tearstains on my cheeks.

"Then how could you possibly know if it's closed or not?" She asks turning back to ring the bell once more. I hear Peeta scream like a wild man, and more things getting knocked over. I walk harshly over to her and grab her by the shoulder. Her high heels make her five inches taller than me. I wonder how she can walk on the cobble stone streets.

"Mellark's is closed," I repeat putting my face closer than socially acceptable and laying a heavy hand on her collarbone. She reels backwards, put off by the movement and shakes my hand from her shoulder.

"I'll have you know I am close friends with the baker!" She says, her green and capitol flecked gold eyes shocked at my pompous attitude.

"I'll have you know I'm closer," I say through my teeth. She huffs and tightens her jacket on her shoulders.

"I'm leaving. I don't need to associate with the downgrades like yourself," She fluffs her jacket. "The baker will hear about this" She leaves, her heels clacking all the way. I follow her and lock the door behind her. I jog up the stairs ignoring the clenching of muscles in my legs.

As soon as I open the door, I suddenly wish I hadn't.

Peeta is sitting on a mess of destruction and heartache and my eyes begin to water as I see him clutching his hair and sobbing. He is shirtless, his chest bloody from nails being clawed at. He looks up at me than his face contracts and out from his chest comes and anguished cry for something, I don't know what.

"Peeta?" I ask trying to hold the tremor in my voice.

"Leave me ALONE!" He wails, and stands up to his full height. "I said LEAVE Katniss, what part of that don't you get?" He yells, and his hands are shaking in front of him and he pulls them through his beautiful hair and all I want to do is hold them. Peeta starts sobbing, his chest heaving as if he can't get enough air to his lungs.

"I can't— I can't—" He is going to hyperventilate if I don't calm him down. My instincts are telling me to run away — go back home where I am safe — but I can't stop my body, it lurches forward where Peeta stands, face in his palms.

I wrap my arms around him like he does when I have an erratic moment. While Peeta can engulf my body in his arms, I can barely get both arms around his waist. I press myself close to him and try to absorb all the anguish and pain he has inside his body. I don't know what to do, I usually leave him before this and let him fend for himself.

But something is different right now. Something feels better in me, like I'm saving him, and giving him vital organs to keep him alive. I link my fingers behind his back to lock him in place. I want him to feel my heart beat and take it. I want him to make a copy of it and replace his broken one.

Peeta is breathing in-out-in-out. I wish I knew more, like the Doctors. I wish Peeta told me some of his calming words, and trigger-stoppers, but I know nothing but to hold him. He holds me when I am having an episode, so I only mimic what he does for me. I desperately want to make him better, make him my strong Peeta again. His arms dangle at his sides.

"Shh. . . ." I whisper against his bloody skin. He is sobbing silently, and I feel his tears fall atop my head. They feel like liquid glass. "I'm here Peeta, nothing is going to hurt you. I'll never hurt you," Peeta cries, harder.

"Please Peeta," I whimper, anxious to make him better again. "Tell me what you need."

"This is— This is—" What Peeta, tell me. "This is alright," I'm elated that I'm helping and not just leaving him to suffer through this alone. This is the first time I'm helping him, and it's working. Peeta tentatively wraps his arms around me. I am inebriated with this small action. Peeta cries, pressing the side of his face atop my head.

"Peeta, what do you do to help yourself? What else can I do?"

"I usually just—" he hiccups. "I just sort of wean it out," I'm instantly upset that I asked that question. Now I'm aware that every time I slept with him and left him while he had an episode, this is what he was going through. Alone.

I'm ashamed at myself.

"Well, I'm here," I say trying to smother the shakiness in my voice. "What will make you feel better?"

"Can we just lay down?" Peeta asks tentatively, almost if he was scared.

"Of course," I turn my head to where the bed usually lies, but it has somehow ended up on the opposite side of the room. I tug us towards it. When we reach the edge, I pull Peeta down. He complies, sitting on the edge, afraid to lay down with me. I pull us down, and we lay against each other. Peeta brings his knees to his chest in standard fetal position, and I hum a wordless tune to break the unbarring silence. I stop because I don't think it's making anything better.

"Please, don't stop," Peeta says, broken. I sing again. Peeta's eyes are closed and his arms are heavy across my body but I don't tell him because I'm here to make him better. I hum until I am tired and stop. As much as I want to continue, my vocal cords can't take the strain they had last night let alone today.

"Thank you," Peeta says, pulling my body closer to his. I kiss his mouth. It is warm from tears and full from the sting of saltwater. I pull him close to my chest so his face is pressed against my breasts. I know he can hear my heart, because he lets out a sigh of burdens.

"I love you so much Katniss," he says. I let out a few tears. "Thank you, for this," His breath tingles my skin.

"Anything Peeta," I promise. "Anything you ever need — I'll find a way to give it to you,"

"Is it wrong for me to feel joy in this, Katniss?" He asks.

"No, Peeta," I shake my head even though he can't see it.

"Well, I'm happy Katniss," I can practically feel the tears in his voice. "You helped me so much — I just — I'm happy. Even after all this."

"What else can we do Peeta?" I ask. "All we can do is find joy in things like this because otherwise," I suggest. "We'd never have any," Peeta absorbs this, and I let him think for awhile.

"I think I'm okay now, Katniss," He says, retracting his arms from around me and sitting up on the bed. He laughs.

"You must think I'm some sort of crazy pansy now don't you?"

"No," I say. "I don't think that at all," He looks down at me and smiles a small smile and I'm warmed that he's trying so hard.

"You go Katniss, I'll clean up," I shake my head in protest. He cleaned up my house when I was unable to, I was to clean his. "Katniss, as much as you don't want to admit it, you aren't strong enough to pick up that furniture."

"But I can help," I point out.

"I want to do this myself," He states. I nod, because I can understand the need to be alone. "I'll meet you at your house later, okay?" He asks it like he may not be welcome.

"I'll see you later," I assure him. As I make my way downstairs, I look behind me to see the damage. There is wreckage all over the place, fragments of wood and clothes strewn across the floor. And then Peeta, broken, and sitting on the bed looking at the mess.

I decided then that I wouldn't want him any other way.

My house seemed ghost-like as I sat at my kitchen table. Peeta was still in his house, probably cleaning and ashamed that I saw him broken and fragmented. I'm glad I saw him like that though, and was able to save him. It makes me seem useful, and not just another useless body.

My kitchen held a small wooden table in the corner, with a small white stove to the right of it. I hardly ever cook so it's highly impractical, but occasionally Peeta will heat up a roast he made, or something other worldly like that.

It was almost dusk, and I was exhausted. In less than forty eight hours, I successfully ruined our routines and severed any recognition of normalcy. I quickly swallow my small pile of pills and gulp down the rest of the water in the glass.

I want to cry, I feel it deep within my chest, but somehow my eyes can't form the tears. I want to change this. I want Peeta to be normal, and for me to be everything he deserves. I could live a thousand lifetimes and it would never be enough for him. He deserves so much more. As much as he says he loves me, there must be something deep within him that knows I'm not good enough.

I sit for a long time, and Peeta still doesn't show up. I wonder if he has forgotten, and has decided that he doesn't want to see my face. I braid and unbraid my hair several times. As I get up to get another glass of water, I hear a small knock on the door, and then Peeta pushes the door open and stands beneath the alcove. My stomach clenches in my body.

"Hi," He says. His cheeks are rose colored and his hair is smooth again.

"Hey. How are you feeling?" I offer.

"Better," He smiles, and my stomach does somersaults.

"That's good, Peeta," I smile back at him. He takes this as an invitation — I want to remind him he doesn't need one — and walks in my house. He's holding a loaf of bread in a bag in his hands.

"I brought this, if you want it," He says, holding it out like an offering. I take it from his hands and our skin brushes.

"Thank you, Peeta."

"No problem," He smiles, as I put the bread atop the stove. I run my fingers over his shoulders under his jacket and push it off. I grab it before it falls to the floor and walk behind him to hang it over the chair. He's breathing heavy again.

"I didn't cook anything," I say.

"That's okay," he says. "I'm not entirely hungry anyways," His eyes are tearing me apart. Peeta has this way about him that I don't think he knows about. I think he still believes he is the boy from the Games — boyish and cute — when in reality he is a man and entirely sexy, with blue eyes and muscle. If he doesn't put his hands on me soon, my anxiety will reach a new high.

I make my way in front of him and grab his collar because if I grab anywhere below his waist, he has a panic attack. I pull him down so we share breaths.

"I feel better Peeta," I say. "Let me heal you," His eyes are closed and he breathes through his mouth.

"Katniss," he asks, swallowing. "You're not — embarrassed — to want to be with me?" I am angry that Peeta would think this.

"Of course not, Peeta," I say, he clenches his eyes shut. "If anything, I want you more. You're more raw now. I can feel you in my bones," I say.

His face was tear-streaked and I couldn't stand it. I leant in and kissed his full lips once quickly, pulling back before he had time to respond. When I went in for another, Peeta was ready and he kissed me back, slowly but not unwillingly. Soft, close-mouthed kisses that were nice and sweet but driving me insane.

After a few more of these kisses, Peeta pulled back a little further than he had been and didn't immediately return. My eyes fluttered open.

"Don't — don't do this for me," He whispered, his arms loosening their hold on me, sliding back until both his hands were resting gently against the small of my back. "Don't do this just because you're trying to make me feel better."

"Shut up, Peeta," I whispered again, but he wouldn't respond.

I parted my lips slightly and kissed him again, let my tongue trace along his bottom lip, requesting entrance. Peeta's lips opened slightly, seeming more like a reflex than a response, but I took advantage of it. I let my tongue fit lightly into the small space between his lips, than kissed him, pressing my bottom lip to the exact place where my tongue had been.

Peeta responded then, his control breaking or maybe he just realized he wasn't going to win this one, and began to kiss me back. We kissed like we did earlier this morning, slowly and deeply.

"Peeta —" I managed. "Let's — let's go upstairs," I grabbed Peeta by the hand and we walked up the stairs, and halfway up Peeta pushed me against the wall and buried his hands in my hair. He kissed me roughly, pressing his tongue into my mouth, and my tongue brushed with his, and I moaned into his mouth. I grabbed his hand and pulled him into my room, laying myself on the bed. Peeta looked down at me for a moment, and I felt unconscious for a few moments, before he smiled and laid next to me.

After awhile of kissing, I felt Peeta's legs straddle me. My hair bothered me and I reached behind me to pull it out of it's braid.

"You're so beautiful," He told me, his eyes taking in my face and hair spread all around me and apparently it was not a bad sight. I felt myself turn pink. "I can't believe you love me," He leaned forward and kissed down my jaw, and when he got to my pulse point he flicked his tongue out, which forced me to clench my legs tightly together.

"You're skin tastes so good, Katniss," He whispers after awhile, and my stomach clenched again. I grabbed the hem of his shirt and tugged it up his stomach, Peeta raised his arms and I pulled his shirt off. I let my hands travel down further to explore the planes of Peeta's chest, how hard it was and yet soft at the same time: strong muscles overlapped with velvet skin.

My fingers brushed gently across Peeta's chest, the muscles in his torso tensing as he hardened under my fingers. His kisses on my neck faultered and he let out a shaky breath.

"Does that feel good?" I asked, brushing my fingers over him once more and he let out a sharp breath that I could feel against my skin.

"Yes, that feels good," He said, a little tightly, and I felt a surge of pride, making him feel like this. I ran my hands back up Peeta's shoulders loving how wide and strong they were above me. I left one hand resting lightly against his neck and the other to trail down to the opposite side of his chest. I traced my fingers lightly around my goal for a few seconds and Peeta's breathing became irregular.

He pulled back to look at me, his mouth slightly open, and I chose this moment to run my thumb directly over his nipple. I wanted to see his face as I caused him pleasure, no matter how small, and it was worth it. His mouth fell open a little more and his arms bucked and I needed to kiss him.

Peeta seemed to have the same thought because in the next instant his lips were crushed against mine.

"You — are so — amazing," He muttered between hard, passionate kisses that I had to work to keep up with. "I can't — believe—"

I didn't find out what Peeta couldn't believe, because he decided then that he didn't want to pull away anymore. His lips were strong against mine and one of his hands tangled fiercely in the hair behind my ear. I felt more of his weight ease onto me as he shifted all of his weight to one side, the elbow of the hand that was in my hair, planted firmly in the bed. He used his newly free hand to grip my waist tightly, squeezing and releasing, sliding slowly further up with each motion. He made it to my breast in record time and I gasped in pleasure against his lips.

He squeezed me almost roughly, and I was shocked by the reaction it drew from me. I liked the rough kisses better than the slow ones so I guess it should only make sense that I like the rough touches better too. Peeta's tongue slipped past my lips at the same time he ran his thumb firmly against me and I gripped his chest firmly.

One of my fingernails scraped past Peeta's nipple and he moaned loudly into my mouth, an amazing sound. The pressure between my legs was at record point and I needed something to sooth it. As if reading my mind Peeta placed his hands between my thighs and I sighed into his neck. Peeta's other hand tugged my shirt over my shoulders.

"Katniss—" Peeta asked. "Can we get out of our clothes?" I nodded and stripped my tights off my body while Peeta took his pants off. His legs were once again, the sexiest part of him. I take off my underwear and Peeta takes off his.

I sigh.

He settles between my legs and I moaned as his bulge settled against me. It was relieving some one the tension there, though not all of it.

"Now Peeta," I moan.

"I love you Katniss," He says as the tip of him presses into me. I'm whimpering now, feeling his body pressed on top of me, and it's almost too much to handle. We're both breathing erratically and I will myself to calm down. Peeta presses his forehead into the pillow above my neck and bites down on my skin there. I moan louder, while Peeta's tongue smoothes over the bite mark.

"Peeta, more," I groan. He complies, sliding halfway into me and I practically shout out for him to go faster but I just lock my ankles around his backside and pull him closer. I would have grabbed him, but I can't.

"Oh God, Katniss," Peeta says and rests his elbows on either side of me so he can grab my face in his hands. "I love you so much," he says and then starts a rhythm. He goes slow at first, than picks up the pace as if reading my mind. This goes on a few minutes before Peeta breaks, rhythm less. His face clenches, and then I can't really make anything out after that because then I close my eyes as pleasure washes over me.

I feel him inside me, warm and stretching, and I don't want him to pull out. So when I start to feel Peeta soften inside me, I wrap my legs around his body.

"Katniss, what —"

"Just stay Peeta," I pant, pressing my face against his chest and turn him over so he can face me.

"I'll stay with you Katniss," He whispers kissing my nose, cheeks, chin, and lips. "I'll never leave," I want to cry because his words mean so much to me. When everyone has either left me, or died in my life, Peeta is the one who has always managed to stay by my side through everything. Never leaving me, and always doing things for my best benefit. I wish I could do things for him.

"Peeta," I say. "I'm afraid one day you're going to leave me and never come back," I'm shocked that I am confessing this, and how Peeta's face contracts when I speak this.

"I'll never leave you Katniss," He says. "No matter what, I'll always stand by you."


	6. Veins Full of Disappearing Ink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I used Elliott Smith's song "A Fond Farewell" as an inspiration for this chapter.

Peeta's house, though same model as mine, is more alive with something in the air than mine. I swear, there is something always golden floating in the air, and it always smells like warm flour. I wish my house was half as magnificent as Peeta's.

This morning, Peeta told me as we woke up, he wanted to bake something with me. He hasn't told me what, and whenever I got to asking what we were making, he would kiss me so I didn't get to finish my sentence. Some sickly, sweet part of me likes this.

The countertop was scattered with cooking items: flour, pecans, apples, sugar, and maple syrup. Things I wouldn't think have gone together, but Peeta somehow makes them all blend together beautifully.

"Okay, hand me a ¾ measuring cup," I stare at him like I'm supposed to know what that means. Peeta rolls his eyes and chuckles.

"It's the metal cup that has ¾ written on the handle," I nod and locate it, and hand it to him. He fills it to the top with sugar and pours it in a large mixing bowl. I like watching him work. I love the way his wrists bend and turn, pouring contents together.

"Can you hand me a spoon, Katniss?" He asks, and I am pleased to know what that is. I hand him one next to my hand. We are facing each other and I feel rather useless standing opposite him.

It occurred to me that if Peeta and I were objects, he would be a Capitol clock, synced up to the exact time and second, and I would be a snow globe; full of shaken, useless memories.

"The trick to baking," He says. "Is not to get too precise with your measurements," I have never heard this before so I just nod like I have. He grabs a dash of sugar and sprinkles it over his pecan and sugar mixture. "A little sugar never hurt anybody," He looks up from his craft and smiles. I smile back, just because he is so beautiful. He's wearing a tan shirt today, and black cargo pants. His resemblance to the outfits in the games sometimes sets me off, and the Doctors see it as ridiculous: an outfit inducing a manic episode? Impossible. But it happens, and it's taking a lot in me to not say anything.

Peeta reaches over my arm to grab some apples. He takes a paring knife and peels them expertly.

"What are we making, Peeta?" I ask for the hundredth time. He sighs, and gives me that look he does when he's tired of me.

"It's an apple pecan pie, Katniss, okay? Happy now that you know?" His words are like a slap, and I know he doesn't mean it. Peeta shakes his head and drops his hand that his holding the knife to press his fingers to his temple.

"Sorry, Katniss," He explains and sighs. "I just kind of wanted this to be a surprise."

"It's okay," I assure him. I don't want Peeta to feel bad, not anymore. Ever since our fiasco at his shop, I have tried my hardest to give him more self-confidence when he has an episode with me. If Peeta wants me to feel safe and secure around him, I want him to feel the same with me. I just need him to know that.

"Okay, so do you want to start peeling the apples?" He asks.

"Well," I'm uncomfortable, admitting that I don't know how.

"You don't know how do you?" He asks with a crooked smile. I stare down at my hands, not wanting to admit anything.

"It's okay — you know that right?" He says, bending at the knees to see me from under my ducked head. "All it takes," He grabs a small knife and an apple and puts under my line of vision. "Is patience, and effort. And I know—" he emphasizes. "That you have both." I turn pink and grab the knife from the handle and the apple with a tough grip.

"But—" I struggle. "I don't—" I shake the objects in my hands. "I don't know how," Peeta smiles at me, like this was amusing.

"Just stick the knife in from the side and peel in circular motion," He explains. I want to shake him. This is not as easy as he's making it out to be. I plunge the knife into the apple and start "peeling".

"Woah, slow down there," Peeta chuckles. "You don't want to mutilate it," I give Peeta a stare. He shuts up. After a few moments I speak.

"So, why are we making this pie?" Peeta grasps at this opportunity to talk again.

"I want you to be more involved in my life," He says.

I am surprised at the elated, simply blissful feeling that crept inside my body at this response. I am in constant reminder that he is too good for me, and that I will never be enough. But it's been okay this long, and I hope he will never realize how perfect he is for someone as broken as me.

"I'm never taking you hunting," I say. Peeta pauses his mixing and smiles down at me.

"Did I ever say I wanted to?" He has a playful smirk on. I've missed this Peeta, he's radiating heat and energy like the sun. I don't say anything, I'm at a loss for words. I watch Peeta mix ingredients I don't have names for, and watch how he turns bland things into a flavorful concoction. "So, a client of mine came in today," He says, smiling down at me. I stare at him like this should mean something to me; Peeta has clients everyday.

"She said a girl with a braid harassed her, and forced her out of the shop," I remember the woman in the bakery, oblivious to Peeta's thrashings. I want to pound her to the ground and feel her bones shatter beneath my fists.

"I don't know anything."

"Are you sure? Because she's very important, and I wouldn't want this girl with a braid and bad attitude to get hurt," He says, raising an eyebrow. I raise one back at him like this should mean something.

"I said," I repeat. "I don't know anything," My eyes speak volumes, for Peeta stays quiet mixing more harshly than before. I watch as he pounds the dough with a wooden spoon, than let's go and lets it drop to the side.

"I don't think you really get it," He says angry now. "She's really important, and I need to know exactly what happened because she can really hurt you."

"I never said it was me," I point out. "You're assuming that—"

"Oh, cut the bullshit Katniss," He scoffs. "You and I both know that you had words with her when you wanted to help me. And while I appreciate the effort you had to clear the area," He says leaning towards me. "You didn't realize she's your Doctor's wife."

Peeta, although I don't want to admit it, is right. I didn't realize. I never ask my Doctors about their personal lives, so maybe they won't ask me about mine, but they never do. They always ask me questions about Peeta and our relationship.

"And you may wonder how this has anything it do with you," He says sarcastically, picking up his spoon and mashing again. "But I've been trying to convince her for the past three months how great you were doing. But—" He mashes some more than looks up at me. "That's all shot to hell now, isn't it?"

I stare at him wide-eyed and upset. First, because Peeta has been watching over me for the past three months and hasn't told me about it. Second, because he thinks I'm too weak to handle the Doctors and my medical condition by myself. But I'm surprised at the relieved feeling I get — this warm, glowing thing that blossoms in my chest and makes me feel safe. I want to vomit.

"You don't even have anything to say," Peeta mutters, just low enough so I can hear it.

"I — I —" I'm stuttering like a fucking two year old caught on another's property.

"What, Katniss?" Peeta says loudly. "Come on, say it."

"Thank you," Peeta opens his mouth to say something else but shuts it and leans back, reeling from the argument. He is shocked at my words, and I am too. I close my mouth, still waiting for words to come out. Peeta sobers up and pulls himself back together after a few short minutes of silence.

"Well," He clears his throat. "That was unexpected," Peeta always tries to break the ice like this: simple sayings and phrases that will get us to talk again. I'm not speaking.

"Did you finish peeling that apple?" He asks. I nod my head. "Cut it into slices and then hand them to me," I cut them into slivers and hold them out to Peeta. He opens his hands, like a poor man does for money, and I pour the apples into them. When our fingers brush I try not to feel the callous on his skin and how the bones are strong beneath the skin. His fingers were made for delicate things, while mine were made for grasping and choking.

"Thank you," Peeta says gracefully as he puts them into the bowl. He mixes a few more times before pouring the entire contents of the bowl into a pan with raised sides. After he is done he pushes a small bowl of sugar towards me. "Here, you can sprinkle the sugar on top."

I look up at him, and give him a stare that asks if he is mocking me. He smiles warmly and pushes it against my hand which is resting on the counter.

"Go ahead," He encourages. I sigh, and reluctantly sprinkle sugar over top Peeta's strange mix. When I'm done I brush my hands on my pant legs. Peeta puts the pie in his oven and presses buttons. I walk over to his living area and sprawl out on the couch. Peeta enters shortly after and smiles down at me.

"Lift up," He says as he approaches the side where my legs lie. I lift them up and Peeta settles down and puts them over his lap. "The pie will be out in thirty minutes," He says. I wonder what we will talk about. I don't recall having ever spent this much time just talking with Peeta. In our spare time we just have sex. Then again, this is a chance for me to break out of the routines.

"When we're like this Peeta," I say after a few minutes of silence. "I feel nervous," I stare at my hands in front of me. I pick the skin around my fingernails. "Like I don't know how to act," I look up and watch him stare at me. His gaze is intimidating me — pathetically — so I pick at my fingernails again. I feel him move beneath my legs I can feel his breath close to my face, though not as close as I'd like him to be.

"It's okay to feel that way Katniss," He reassures me. "I feel that way sometimes too," I look up in surprise. Peeta comes across strong and unfazed despite the occasional blush here and there. I never expected him to relate.

"It's just when we're like this," I explain, flailing my arms to our over crossed bodies. "That's when I get nervous," Peeta laughs deep in his chest and I stare at my hands. I'm refusing to meet his eyes.

"Katniss," He says. "Come on, Katniss," His hand tugs my chin up so I meet his eyes. It feels like submission. "Don't ever be afraid to admit how you feel. Especially around me," he whispers. "We both deserve to be honest with each other."

"Well in that case," I admit. "Let's talk about that woman from the bakery."

"Katniss —" Peeta starts.

"No Peeta," I interrupt him. "She was rude, and unwilling to take a hint that you were struggling with something. I asked her nicely to leave, and she didn't. So I forced her out," I confess. I try to explain this to Peeta as simply as I can. She probably convinced him I spit on her Capitol shoes.

"I understand Katniss," He says. "As much as you don't think I do, I understand. It's just that the Doctors have you so wound up on medicine you're hardly ever you sometimes. I thought, just maybe," I meet his eyes. "That if I influenced her long enough that you were happy, and normal, that they would take you off them."

I'm surprised again, at this safe feeling that spreads over my body at Peeta's words. He was only trying to protect me and care for my wellbeing. I think Peeta expected me to be upset with him, and I guess I normally would, but with all the changes I've made, I'm not. So when I see Peeta recoil back — anticipating a stark remark — I just reach out and grab his hands that are laying against my calves.

"Thank you, Peeta," I say, trying to sound a genuine as I feel. Peeta looks up in surprise. He didn't expect this. He collects himself, and smiles down at me.

"I'd do anything for you Katniss," I am speechless so I say nothing.

I look down at the wooden floor, bland and cracked from months of abuse. I should clean it one day for Peeta, because he deserves something nice like that. I look up at him for a while, and watch how he smoothes out imaginary wrinkles in my pants. I should be so much more for him. I should be perfect and do house chores like a good housewife. That's what Peeta deserves — not my unnecessary mood swings and no knowledge of cooking. He needs someone just as beautiful as him, if not more, only then will Peeta ever get what he deserves.

Peeta looks over at me and I look at him. I love his eyes. The way the blue can smolder and cool all at the same time.

"I want you to know something Katniss," His hands travel up my calves to my thighs and stay pressed there. I stare at him, and his eyes never leave mine. "You will always be enough for me," I let his words sink in just to make sure I heard him properly. They hold a special anesthetic, one that submerges my doubts and fears into the ocean and never let's them come up for breath.

I lean forward and press my lips to his. Lightly, and not with any lust or desire. Just a kiss, to feel his lips against mine and know that he believed I was enough for him. I pull away, because I don't to ruin this moment. I promise my self to remember this cloud nine feeling and imprint it to my memory.

"You're just —" I start, and take a breath. Peeta's eyes are a dazzling ocean blue and I need to remind myself to breathe. "You're so perfect Peeta," I choke up then, my throat closing in on me and my eyes start to water.

"Don't cry, Katniss," Peeta says bringing himself closer so he can reach up to wipe my face of it's tears. "You're everything I could have ever asked for and more," He says. "I don't want someone cleaning and cooking for me. I want a huntress and a former tribute and someone with mood altercations," He continues. "I want battle scars and rabbit stew, and long nights where we argue." He takes a breath and looks down for a moment before looking up again. "I want you."

My lungs can't get enough air to themselves and they feel like they have restraints holding them in place. I look at my hands and how they are chapped and dry in this winter air. I watch Peeta's tan skin run paths from my elbows to my fingertips and I wonder how I could have ever survived the Games without him at my side.

"I love you Peeta," I say for the second time in days. He glows than, like ember after a fire and the sky after lighting.

"You have no idea how much that means to me, Katniss," He leans over us again and presses several light kisses to my mouth. "I mean —" He kisses me again. "It's just like finding this beautiful thing underneath the ruble. I want to cherish you until the day you die."

I'm not breathing right. I want to shake myself out of this dream and get back to reality, but this painful aching feeling in my chest reminds me that I am alive, and this is my reality. It's not harsh, unwanted, or shameful. It's an animate, and breathing thing that has a life of it's own. I lift my hands to cradle Peeta's face and they are shaking. I feel the warm blood pulsing through the thin stretch of skin, and am shocked at the final realization that this man — Peeta — loved me and was okay with my broken, fragile state.

"I'll never be normal Peeta," I say. "I'll always have a gaping hole in my body."

"That's okay," Peeta promises. "I wouldn't want you any other way."

I'm crying now, and not sad, or heartbreakingly or weakly. I'm crying because I feel loved, and the knowledge that someone, despite all the odds stacked against us, can love me back. Peeta, although I believe deep within my core that I am not good enough for him, is convinced that I am his true love. I grab his body and crush it against my chest so our hearts can share the same beat. I love him, and for now, that is enough.


	7. History Keeps Pulling Me Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The song I used in this chapter for inspiration is "Any Other Name" by Thomas Newman.
> 
> Though the chapter title comes from Florence + The Machine's "Leave My Body."

There is too much happening in my head. There is Prim, Mother, Gale, and there is Peeta all swirling around my in constant motion. I'm on a merry-go-round, spinning — faster and faster. At first it's fun then it won't stop. It just keeps turning, and turning, trapping me in circular motion. I really never go anywhere, because everything's beyond my control. I'm just stuck spinning until my insides rebel and I want to scream and throw up.

There is never any serenity, it is all beyond my reach in some distant land where things are normal and nothing harms you. I want desperately to be there. I am sick of this dimension. It's lackluster stares and cold realities. I need sun and breath. I need a life where I am not living in constant fear and terror that everything will be taken away from me without any notice.

Peeta is warm at my side. Blood, skin and bones, and so alive it aches me. His breath against my neck is a constant reminder that he is here, with me, and is not leaving. Though there is a constant dread that he will soon be stripped from me like sheets off a mattress. I am sick of this anxiety, and want it to go away so I can live my life. I want to be free from dreams that dictate my life.

I keep having dreams where I walk around and can't speak. People tell me, push me, and force me to do things, an d I struggle in their arms, and they don't understand why. They talk to me as though I'm a mental patient — slow and submissive — and use soothing voices. It only makes me scream and trash more against their arms. They force me to take medications, and tie me down and scream at me. And when I am sedated, I can't cry out. I can only stare wide-eyed into the people who abuse and use me. My mouth is non-existent, and my opinions don't matter.

I should tell the Doctors about these dreams, and they should help, but they don't They just prescribe me more medicine and repeat How do you feel about that until I want to throw everything off their desks. I don't though, because I know all that will get me is a one way ticket to the padded cells they keep hidden.

I look sideways at Peeta and his closed, purple lids. He hasn't screamed tonight. It is a brilliance of light in this dark affair. His mouth is parted slightly and his breathing is the only thing keeping me grounded to this bed. After our confessions this past afternoon, we just went to bed a laid down, which was more raw then I've ever been with him.

I want to wake him up, and let him strip these horrible dreams from the crevices of my mind, but I let him sleep because if Peeta deserves anything it's a good rest. I gaze into the dark abyss of the ceiling and wish for it to be bare so I can see the comfort of the stars. I'm sick of this world, it's people and it's problems. I want something different. I want a different life — one where Peeta and I are not scarred, and damaged. I want one where we meet normally and fall in love like real people — not star-crossed lovers from Distract 12 in the battle for our lives.

I wish for so many things, and refuse to accept my reality. But I should though, I should accpect the was handed to me and move along with it, but I can't shake the dreams and the nightmares and the constant worry that I will have nobody left.

I am afraid Peeta will leave me suddenly, like everyone else in my life. That he will sporadically dissaper and go with Prim into that world full of stars and a blue sky. I'm selfish though, and will do anything to keep him at my side. I'm scared to even let him go into his bakery sometimes — afraid he will fall into the oven and never come back. It's ridiculous I know, Peeta has grown around a bakery his whole life, though I can't help this gnawing fear at my mind.

I look over at Peeta beside me and feel this painful thing growing in my chest that I don't seem to have a name for. Every fiber of my body is aching to be near him at all moments. I want to follow him around like a homeless puppy, just so I can make sure nothing will happen to him.

His chest has no coverings on it, so he is bare. I admire the wide expanse of his shoulders and the way his chest rises and falls — a sign that he is alive, and right next to me. Peeta has noticed how I like his muscles I believe, because sometimes when I walk by the bakery, I see him carrying three bags of flour instead of the childhood one.

I should feel bad, or slightly guilty that Peeta feels the need to bulk up because of me, but I'm elated at this idea of Peeta being stong, and healthy. He's not enhanced looking like some Capitol men, but he is defined and demarcated. The bed sheets cover him from the hips down. I watch how his hip bones dip in and create a line of bone structure that disepars below the sheets. It's pratically intoxicating, watching him. He's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

I lean over and kiss his ear lobe. Peeta stirrs a little, mumbling something in sleep language. I kiss his cheek bone, and kiss my way to his mouth.

"Katniss," He mumbles sleepily. He doesn't open his eyes. I should feel bad for waking him up, but with one more second alone with my thoughts, I don't think I'd survive.

"Peeta," I say back against his lips. I kiss them again. They are dry so Peeta's tounge flicks out and wets them. My stomach crushes itself against my spine.

"Katniss, what's wrong?" He asks. I feel really bad then, waking him up and expecting the worst. "Are you alright?" He leans upwards and peers at the clock on the beside table. "It's three in the morning, what is it?" He flops back down on the bed, his head landing slighty on my side. I don't mind.

"I just wanted to be with you."

"Well," He says, turing his body so it is facing me. "I'm with you, what do you need?" He places a large hand over my hip where my shirt has risen and the skin on skin contact pleasures me more than it should.

"I just needed to hear your voice," I say honestly. Peeta smiles a sleepy smile with his eyes shut.

"You're too perfect sometimes, you know that?" He pulls me close to his body and I can't help the excitement that fills my body, when we fit together like two puzzle pieces. I feel like his body was meant to touch mine.

"Please Peeta," I say trying to sound as nice as I can. I don't do well with compliments.

"Oh, that's right," He says as if remembering. He frowns a little and I reach up and kiss the corners of his mouth and the furrow between his brow.

"Sorry Peeta," I say, as if this will make my non-accpectece of compliments any better. He sighs and wraps his arms tighter around my body.

"It's okay, Katniss," He says. "I just wish I could make you better so I could give you all the compliments you deserve," When Peeta says things like this — whispering in the moonlight — it makes my heart beat rapidly and my palms start to sweat. I try to supress my embarssment knowing that Peeta can feel my blood start to heat up.

"Did you have any nightmares?" I ask him. Peeta smiles into my neck.

"No acutally," He says, smiling wider. "It was a dream. I really good one, actually," I open my eyes wide, even though Peeta can't see it. Peeta hasn't had a good dream in months.

"What was it?" I ask, curious. Peeta doesn't say anything for a few moments.

"Well, I think you'll get mad," He admits.

"You can't control what you dream Peeta," I explain. "Just tell me, I promise I won't get mad."

"You promise?" He asks, pulling away from the crook of my neck.

"Promise."

"Well — you were — you were —" This must be hard for Peeta. I rub my hands up and down his arms, encouraging him. "You were pregnant."

I am surprised, and my hands stop at the middle of his arms. Me, pregnant? Peeta quickly tries to recover himself.

"I'm sorry," He says repeating the arm thing I was doing a few moments ago. I have no words. "I shouldn't have said anything, I was just, you know, excited to tell you, and you promised, and it seemed like the right time —" I press my lips against Peeta's to shut him up.

"It's okay Peeta," I say for him, and myself. "You can't control your dreams," I repeat.

"Wait," He says, shocked. "You're not going to leave?" I press my lips against his again to assure him I wasn't. I pull back and I can see Peeta's mouth hanging open in the dim moonlight streaming in from the windows.

"Go back to sleep Peeta," I need a moment for myself. "Go back to your dream," I can feel Peeta wanting to say a compliment, but instead he just kisses the top of my head and lays his head down on the pillow above me. I settle against his body.

The idea of me pregnant is a different thought. I tantalized the idea, and thought about it, more out of pervention than curiosity. I never had sex with Peeta three days before my time of the month, just because Mother suggested it, when I asked her how I could pervent it. As a child and a teenager, I swore to myself that I was never going to have any children. Why bring a beautiful thing into all this ulginess around us? But, recently — the last few days — something has changed in me.

Peeta would be a perfect Dad. Loving and caring, and would be there when if child was in need. I see him with children that walk into that bakery. He never treats Capitol children any differently than seam children, and he always gives them and extra cookie for good meausure. He radiates like a night star, brillant in the shadow of the sun. He was made for fatherhood.

I, on the other hand, can't invision myself in such a position. I am prejudice, and pratical, never seeing a different side to things than my own. A Mother is some who leads by example. I am so dependent on Peeta and medicine, what could I possibly teach my children? That you need a constant aid and someone to monitor you life?

I'm not upset at Peeta for his dream. He can't help it, it's in his genetic make-up to want children and babies. It's just apart of him, and I need to accepct that being with Peeta comes the territory of pregnancy. It's just something I need to admit.

I want this night to be over already. Time is slow when you're an insomniac. It is depressing and sad, knowing that the earth spins slowly enough that you can imagine your own life flashing before your eyes. All I see when I recollect my life is the Games, Peeta, and Prim.

It's sad.

I stare at the ceiling until I see an orange light peek through the curtins, glistening the icicles hanging from the windows. Peeta groans and flips his right arm over his eyes.

"No, it's morning," He mumbles, upset.

"Yes, it is," I say and roll him over so I'm straddling him. He smiles and opens his sleepy eyes.

"Is this repayment for waking me up in the middle of my dream?" He's so stupid in the mornings that I smile and lean my body down to kiss his mouth. Peeta is still asleep so his mouth is sloppy against mine.

"Peeta," I whine. He laughs and pulls away.

"Okay, okay," He says. "I'm awake."

I smile and lean down and kiss him, running my tounge along the entrence of his mouth. He responds, opening his mouth against mine, and granting me entrence. Peeta tastes like sleep, something that is forgien to me.

His hand travel from the top of my shoulders down to my lower back and they stay there for a few moments before going lower to grip my backside.

"This is my faviorite part of you," He admits. I pull away to stare at him. "I'm sorry," He starts. "I shouldn't have said anything —" I slam my lips against his and kiss him until there is no doubt in his mind that it was wrong to say that.

"It's okay," I pull aways from his lips. "You can say anything you like about my body Peeta," I admit. "It's yours," Peeta must have like this because he burried his hands in my hair and pulled me down to meet his lips.

"I'm yours too, Katniss," He whispers against our constrained lips. "Everything about me, is completely yours," I feel jovial, hearing Peeta admit this.

"In that case," I pull aways from him and let my hair hang over my shoulder. "My favorite part of you," I say, letting my hands travel from his neck slowly down his chest over his abdomen until the settled on the bones of his hips, that dipped into the lower half of his body. I let my figers trace that line there. "Is this," I look up at him.

He is look down at my hands, and his breathing is deep and he closes and clenches his eyes shut. I feel him hardening between my thighs.

"Really Katniss?" He asks, looking up at me breathing hard.

"Really, Peeta." I look at his eyes, their smoldering ember blue, and wonder how a man could be so sexy, and not know it.

He leans upwards and presses his lips against mine and I push down so he can lay down without straining to meet my lips. I allow my fingers to dance across that line there, and feel Peeta's abdomen contract each time I do it. It's a pleasing action, that makes me fill with pride. Knowing that I can cause him pleasure is too pleasing.

"Katniss, unless you want to continue with this, you need to stop doing that," Peeta whispers against my mouth. I can feel him, hard beneath me.

I think about what day it is, and what the time of the month means. It is the day where my body is ready to become pregnant, and to be filled with Peeta. I look down at his eyes, and see how he knows this, and how he can stop himself for my benefit.

"What if I don't want to stop Peeta?" I ask, before quickly pushing my lips against his to avoid that shocked look in his eyes. Peeta's lips are unresponsive beneath mine, and I suddenly wish I can take back my words — knowing what they must mean to Peeta.

"What?" Peeta asks between our lips.

"Nevermind." I mutter and continue to kiss down his neck over his chest to distract him. Peeta is not as involved as he once was.

"No, Katniss," He says grasping my head hard between his hands and focing me to look up at him. "What did you just say? And don't bullshit me by saying 'never mind'."

I sigh and look at his perfect stomach, the mucles taut and defined there. I don't want to lift my eyes, but Peeta's firm hands around my head tell me I better look up. His eyes are smoldering, questioning my actions and motives and what my words mean.

"I said," I repeat shakily. "What if I don't want to stop," I say in the lowest voice I can. Peeta takes a deep breath and let's go of my head, I watch him as he turns his head to the side and blinks rapidly several times as if to clear his mind of unwatned images.

I wait for him to collect himself, and soon he looks up at me, tears welling in his eyes.

"Do you mean that Katniss?" He asks. I look at his eyes, how beautiful they are with tears shining in them. "Did you really mean that?"

"Yes," I say, and am surprised at what I am doing. I am admiting I wouldn't mind having Peeta's baby inside me, and would take care of it like a vital organ. I don't know what has brought this on, this deperate need to change our routines has gone increasingly too far, and this hould be a warning sign for me to stop. But I can't stop myself from loving the glow on Peeta's face as he absorbs my words.

"Really?" He aks, throwing his arm over his eyes. He's shocked, I shouldn't have said anything. I never considered inducing an episode with this dent in our routines.

"Yes, Peeta," I say, tugging on his arm. His arm is heavy and doesn't come off easily. He has become a molten pile of skin and muscle, no longer holding a skeleton.

"Peeta, please, talk to me," I plead after a few moments of silence. His eyes meet mine, and while his body is unresponsive and dead underneath me, his eyes are alive. Fuled and hot and melt my bones and heat something deep within my stomach and chest.

"You mean that?" His words are harsh. It occurs to me that with all the ringers I've put him though about this, all the fights I forced him though about this, is not helping me to convince him right now, that I am ready, and willing. "Because if you don't Katniss, you are a sick, sick woman."

His words should hurt me, and should make me want to take back my eagerness to become pregnant, but all I feel is sad, for leading him to believe that when I finally promised this, he would think it was some cruel joke.

"I mean it Peeta," I grab his face in my hands and force his eyes to gaze into mine. "I wouldn't mind having your baby," I swear it.

He looks up then, eyes hot, like coals in the mines, and kisses me deep until I feel it deep in my toes. Then he pulls away and I take in his golden, floppy hair which needs to be cut, and the scar he has over his right eyebrow. I take in all his imperfections that make him perfect, and promise myself I will love him until the day I die.

"When?" He asks. And I am suddenly hit then, with the severity of my promise and words, and how I'm not ready, but will one day be, and I don't know how to admit this to Peeta.

"Well, I'm not —" I sigh. "I'm not sure when."

"You're not sure when?" He asks, eyes on me. I stare down at my hands that rest on his chest. The sun peeking through the curtains creates patterns of gold on his skin.

"Yeah — I just — you know—" I'm struggling for words and wish I could take what I said back because it is a sign that I am not prepared.

"But," He says tilting my head with his hand upwards so I can meet his eyes. "You'd like to have children?" He asks.

"I wouldn't mind it," I barely whisper. My eyes are closed so I can avoid his eyes. Either he's going to be pissed or have an episode. Karma owes me one or the other. I feel Peeta shift beneath me, and he sits up so he is on his knees in front of me on the mattress. His breath is warm against my face as he speaks.

"Katniss," He whispers. I clench my eyes shut tightly. I don't want him to be upset. "Katniss, open your eyes," His fingertips brush gently over my closed lids and I open them to see his face close to mine. I can see the laugh lines around his mouth, and the wrinkles near his eyes. His face was meant for deep laughs and large smiles. "You would have a baby?" His voice shakes. "You would have, my child?" I nod my head. He closes his eyes and lets out a shaky breath he was holding.

"Peeta, I'm sorry I'm not ready. I shouldn't have said anything, I'll just go —" As I get up to leave but Peeta's large hands grab my hips roughly and keep me in front of him.

"You are staying right here," He says forcibly. "Katniss," He says, gazing into my eyes. His stare is turning my body inside out and I can feel everything in me shaking, like the aftermath of an earthquake. "If you mean this," His voice quivering. "I want you to know that you are the most perfect thing I have ever come across," He says. I can't take my eyes off his, he doesn't blink once as he speaks.

"Peeta," I say. I don't do well with compliments.

"No, Katniss," He interrupts me. "You just told me you wouldn't mind having a child with me. You deserve as many compliments as you can get."

"Peeta, please," I plead. I settle my gaze on his hands on my hips which haven't moved.

"It doesn't matter how long we have to wait. A year, two years, hell we can get away with ten if we need to," I let out a breathy laugh. "As long as it takes, all that matters is that you're open to the idea," I look up and meet his eyes.

I am again reminded just how perfect the man in front of me is. He doesn't mind that I'm not ready, or that I may not mean right now but all he wants is for me to have an open mind. Most District men do not listen to their wives desires or their wishes, but Peeta, the rare man that he is, does. He is so beyond perfect, it aches my chest and my lungs. I wish I could be half as magnificent as Peeta.

"You have no idea how much you mean to me Katniss," He says, pulling me close to his body. I instinctually wrap my arms around his body, and feel the muscles flex as his arms encompass my torso. "You're the world to me, Katniss," He says against my neck.

I want to say something back, that expresses just how much Peeta means to me, like blood to a hemophiliac, and water to a desert man. Something poetic, that he deserves. He's everything I need, and everything that keeps me alive. I don't want to express this aloud, in fear that if I do, he will be taken away from me like Prim and Cinna. I wrap my arms tighter around his body, so I can give him my heartbeat.

"I love you so much, Katniss," He says, and pulls away from me so he can cradle my face in his hands. "You just made me the happiest man in Panem," He kisses my mouth deeply and I kiss him back, because I don't know what other way to tell him I feel the same.


	8. The Screams All Sound The Same

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The song I used for inspiration in this chapter is "Never Let Me Go" by Florence + The Machine.
> 
> Chapter title comes from Of Monsters And Men's "Little Talks".

I am standing over Peeta's oven. The heat from the gas burner is stinging the hair on my arms. It feels real so I don't move. As I got up from the bed this morning, Peeta asked me if I could make eggs. I didn't respond back, just got up and started preparing him the dead embryos.

"I didn't know you'd actually do it," He states as he descends the stairs. "I was almost joking," I give him I look that says he better not be joking. He stops his smiles. "Relax, Katniss, I meant it okay?" He throws his arms up in mock defense. I turn back to the chicken eggs and push them around the skillet with a spatula. The sick yellow is disgusting me. I was not meant to cook.

Peeta's arms wrap themselves around my waist. I stare down at the golden hair on his arms. His head rests on my shoulder, and he stands, watching me cook him his breakfast. He sighs into my ear and presses a kiss against my neck.

"This morning is so perfect," He murmurs. He stands up than and I hear his feet shift to turn around. His arms leave my waist and one hand travels lower to grab my backside.

Peeta? Grabbing my ass?

"What do you think I am, some piece of meat?" I ask, whirling around. "You think you can grab me whenever you want?"

"Katniss — I'm sorry —"

"No, Peeta! Just because we do it in the bedroom does not mean you can go around groping me all day!"

"Katniss — I thought —" His look is incredulous and I want to slap it off.

"No," I say, furious now. "You didn't think, you didn't think at all, because all you are is a Distract 12 man, I don't even know why I bother sometimes," I throw the spatula down and it clatters on the stove before nosily falling to the floor. I push past Peeta's shoulder and throw open the door into the frosty air of the backyard. I slam the door behind me shut.

My mind is shaking, and so are my hands. I close my eyes, and take deep breaths, in and out. Things will calm down soon enough. I am horribly upset. Peeta can't go around and grab me like that. Not when we're outside of the bedroom. That was only for nighttime stars and moonlit bodies. And even though we were in his kitchen, it was daylight outside, and Peeta could see my scarred flesh.

I blink back tears and hold them in my body. I'm not beautiful, I'm average. In the dark, Peeta can touch my body all he wants and can say anything he wants about it, because he doesn't even know what he's seeing. In the daylight though, I don't want him touching me like that. I'm a coward, and should admit this too him.

The cold freezes my limbs and creaks my joints. I can only stand out here a few moments longer before I have another hypothermic episode. I huff out a breath that makes a could of hot air in front of my mouth. I turn to the window and look down at the handle. I need to admit I'm wrong and it feels like surrendering.

I open the door and enter the kitchen. The spatula and pan are in the sink, and the eggs are in the trash. Peeta's house is empty despite the sofa and milk that are signs of life. I turn to the stairs and walk up them. Peeta's bed is made, no signs of us being there last night. I hear water running. I turn to the wall of Peeta's masterpieces and admire his artistic skill. Peeta has such a talent that he sometimes takes for granted. I wish I could draw my emotions and memories out like he can. I walk to the left and push open the door.

Peeta is in the shower, lathering up like a God before a race, and I stand there for a few moments taking in his hair and body. His hair is dark brown now, matted against his head, and the water falls over his body like silk Capitol sheets. I admire his backside.

I am no different than him. I feel like shit.

I strip off my clothes, let them tumble to my feet in a black heap and feel the cool air surround my body. I should put them back on. It is daylight — Peeta will see my scars. He feels them in the night and kisses them, but he has never seen the ruined flesh and it's raised scar tissue. I wonder if he'll throw up.

I approach the door, to where Peeta's back is turned. I'm glad he can't see because if he turned around., I would probably grab my clothes and bolt. His hands are braced against the wall in front of him and the water rolls of his back. This look of torment his body holds, all it's sadness is making me feel guilty so I lurch my body forward and open the door. Peeta whirls around, ready for an attack.

"K — Katniss," He sputters, not expecting me. "What — what are you doing?" He is out of breath. I lean forward and kiss the corner of his gaping mouth.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, and wonder if he can hear me with the pounding of the water.

"You're — you're in my shower," He states. I kiss the other corner of his mouth.

"Yes, I'm in your shower," I say obviously and kiss his bottom lip. He shuts his mouth taking the hints. "I'm sorry," I repeat for good measure.

"What are you talking about?" He asks.

"I'm sorry for snapping at you," I explain. I look down at out feet, the way the water moves around them to find the drain. "You can —" I struggle with my words "It's okay if you touch me Peeta. I'm sorry I got upset."

"I should be the one apologizing," He says, putting his hands on my hips. His right thumb brushes my scars. "I should ask you first before I do something like that."

"But Peeta," I say, wanting to put the blame on myself. "I'm yours, you can touch me whenever you want. Sometimes I just forget that," Peeta's eyes are warm embers, smoldering after a fire, and he leans down and trails my collarbone with the tip of this nose.

"You're so perfect," He says, and I don't protest at this compliment, because Peeta can say anything that he wants because he deserves it after what I said.

"And you're not a regular District 12 man Peeta," I whisper into his ear. "You're so much more than that. I'm sorry I said those things," I want to take back all my words and drown them.

"Katniss," Peeta says, smiling a small smile and putting his lips close to mine. "Stop apologizing. I get it," His breath mingles with mine, and I lean forward so we can finally kiss. His lips are slippery from the water and are his tongue is warm inside my mouth.

I hate how I hurt him, and come crawling after him and ask him to forgive me. I want it to be easier on him, and I want him not to have to put up with my constant backlash, but I don't know how to contain it. Peeta refuses to leave me, as much as I think he should, so all I can do is try to make it easier on him. I just don't know how.

His tongue brushing the inside of my mouth should feel intrusive, but it doesn't. It belongs there, same with his hands moving up my ribs, trailing a path. I put my hands against his chest and feel the muscles there, that raw strength I love so much.

The water is hitting Peeta's back, and the spray is fanning my face. I continue to kiss Peeta and push him back against the tile wall where the water won't hit us.

"Katniss —" Peeta says breaking away. "What are you doing?" His eyes are wide, not expecting this primitive move of mine.

"What do you think I'm doing Peeta?" I don't know what I am doing, but I try to sound like I know.

"We'll slip and fall Katniss," He says in basic logic.

"But —" I say, looking down at our feet again. "I want to," I look up at him then, and I think he saw something in my eyes, because he smiled then. He didn't say anything, he just leaned forward and kissed me until I could feel in in my toes.

He pulled away, and I groaned. Peeta chuckled, and lead a trail of kisses down my neck to my breasts. Peeta leaned in, his bright blue eyes locked on mine, and pulled one of my nipples into his mouth.

I came up fast, unexpectedly so. Faster than I ever had. I was teetering on something with a jagged edge and about to fall face forward into something I didn't want to just yet. Peeta's hand soothed my ruined flesh and he pulled away to look at the scars.

"Peeta," I whined, not wanting him to look.

"It's beautiful Katniss," He says flickering his eyes up to meet mine. "Never be ashamed of these, they are who you are."

Peeta's words held a strong sedative, and submerged all my fears and doubts beneath the surface. He is beautiful at poetry, even though he doesn't know it yet. Obscure in translation, lost in the magnificence of expression.

I let my hands trail down his chest to his abdomen, and let the tips of my fingers brush over his line of bones. Peeta grew beneath me and he bent his head back against the shower. I was happy to know what he liked. It made me feel like I held this secret about him that no one else knew. It was a highly primitive thing, enjoying watching him in pleasure. Something animals experience, and something that I could relate to.

I wanted to touch him the way he does me. To give him enjoyment with my hands rather than my body. An instinctual feeling came over me — wanting to do this — I looked down at him, my hands on his stomach, and than up at his eyes. Realization hit him at what I wanted to do, and he groaned and closed his eyes.

"You have no idea how much I want to Katniss," He said, banging his head once against the shower wall. "But I can't," he groaned. "We've tried so many times, and it never works."

"Maybe it will this time," I encouraged. "You never know."

"I just don't want —" He clenched his eyes, in a dilemma. "I don't want to have an episode," He opened his eyes then, and I saw the torment resting in them. I wanted to take all the hurt and unfairness away. Peeta doesn't deserve any of that, he's too good for it.

Peeta closed his eyes, and let his head roll back, one hand reaching out to fist against the shower wall and the other burying itself in my hair. I leaned in and pressed a kiss to the very top of Peeta's chest. I let my hands travel lower to feel his hair there.

"I love it when you kiss me, Peeta," I told him quietly, stroking him. His knuckles were white, fisted against the shower wall. I stroked him again to help make my next point. "And when you touch me."

Peeta was breathing deep, sucking in steamy air, filling his lungs with it.

"And I absolutely love it when you're inside me," I said grasping him hard. Peeta groaned out and then bit his lip like he was trying to hold another one back, but he kept his eyes shut tight. I wanted him to open them, and swim in their blue. I stroked him faster, my other hand reaching up to brush my fingers across his pectorals and tease him like he always did me. I wanted to get him there.

"Look at me, Peeta," I said, voice firm. "Open your eyes," His eyes flew open, darker than usual and so full of love it made my stomach hurt. I leaned up and flicked his nipple with my tongue, before I pulled back, our eyes locked together the entire time, still moving my hand in time with the stubble clues from his hips.

"I love you, Peeta."

Peeta pulsed in my hand and his back arched, his hips slamming forward. His hands came down to pull me against him and I felt something hot splash against my stomach but my eyes were glued to his face. I would never get tired of watching him like that.

When Peeta's body finally relaxed, his muscles and the rest of him, softened in my hand, I released him. Peeta's eyes flew open again, but this time they were horrified.

"Katniss —" He said reaching for me. "Shit — I — I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to —" I followed Peeta's eyes down, confused, and realized when I saw my stomach. Something animalistic in me liked it. A predatory thing that claimed me as his.

"It's okay, Peeta," I soothed, looking back and forth between my face and his stomch. "It's more than okay really."

"Seriously, Katniss, I'm so sorry —"

"Would you stop Peeta?" I said harshly and exasperated. I tilted my face up for a kiss but Peeta either didn't get it or just didn't want to comply. "You can't be shy with me. When I didn't want to show you my scars, you helped me get over it. When I tried to cover myself, you wouldn't let me," Peeta just watched me. His eyes were ashamed.

"I liked touching you, and I like it when you grab the back of my pants and that it's your favorite part about me. And I like what happened just now. A lot, actually."

"You liked that? You're not —" He struggled "Mortified?"

"No!" I exclaimed. "When you touch me with your fingers — do you think that's horrifying?" Peeta's face changed. His arms came around my waist and lifted me lightly off my feet, and he took a step forward so we were both under the spray of the shower. I ran my fingers up into Peeta's dark golden hair.

"You're perfect," He said pressing his hands against my face.

"You're going to wear it out," I said.

"No I won't," He said, smiling, and putting me on my feet. The water was lukewarm now, and I was glowing with the aftermath of what just happened. I touched Peeta, and he didn't have an epidode, or a meltdown, or any other sad moment.

He was happy, and right here, warm in my arms. I kissed him deeply, running my hands over the expanse of his back. Peeta pulled away.

"We need to get out before we turn into prunes," I don't know what that is, so I turn around as Peeta shuts off the water. I grab a towel that is laying folded on the counter and wrap it around my body. I turn around to see Peeta naked and having not moved.

"You're sexy, you know that right?" Peeta says his eyes hot yet soft. Peeta hasn't been this open and breezily happy in awhile, so I smile back at him, grab the other towel on the counter, and walk over to where he stands.

"You're more," I say and hand him the towel. Peeta turns pink and towels his hair. He wraps it around his lower waist, and it accentuates that bone line there, and my mind starts to get hazy, so I turn away.

"Katniss," Says walking towards me. "Don't be embarssed to say what you want to. My body's yours too, you can do and say whatever you want with it," The fact the Peeta trusts me so completely aches my chest, and I turn around and rest my hands against his large shoulders.

"You're perfect," I whisper, and kiss him so he knows how much of me he has wrapped around his beautiful fingers.

"Careful," He sas smiling cheekily. "You're going to wear it out," I laugh deep in my chest and it feels good, like it belongs there and isn't some forgien object in my body. I feel happy, and good, like nothing can be wrong in the world. I want badly to believe that everything is right and there is no wrong in the world, but my fear can't just subsied with a happy afternoon. It is like a gray cloud: constant smog and always there.


	9. Lost Inside The Kingdom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The song I used for inspiration in this chapter is "Girl In The War" by Josh Ritter.

The grass was warm pressed against my back, green and alive. I tangled my fingers in it's tangible vegetation. It was slightly wet from the dew of the morning, the air still damp as I breathed in deep. I want to bleed into the earth, let it take away all my pain and anxiety, and leave me whole, and perfect.

I don't want this fear anymore. I don't want to feel like I'm not good enough for Peeta or that he needs someone else. I want to feel secure around him and know that I'm enough. Peeta tries to convince me all the time that I'm enough and that he loves me, but this horrible, undesired part of me convinces me that I'm not good enough.

I want to shoot it in it's ugly face like the death I have cheated so many times before me. I want to kill this thing inside me and watch in joy as it falls to it's knees in agony. I don't want it harboring inside me anymore.

I depend on it when I am in fear, in love, or anxious. I use it when I am unsure of something, or when I don't understand new emotions. I need to pull myself together and gain control of my life. These trees around me- their roots are what tie them to this place, and show a story of their lives. My roots are so embedded in Peeta and District 12, I forget sometimes.

These trees, the stories they can tell, are beautiful. The song they play in the breeze — it's gentle hum — is soft and beautiful in my ears.

I stretch my body as far as it can and spread my arms over my head. I stretch until I feel a strain my muscles. This earth is beautiful and I want to soak it up like Capitol women do to the suns' rays. I listen to the crunch of dirt beneath my body, and the cradling of baby grass.

I hear footsteps behind me, and I recognize the slide of one prosthetic foot, and the solidity of one real one. I open my eyes, and see Peeta towering over me, a smile on his face.

"You just took a shower, you're getting dirty," His words are accusing, but his tone and smile say otherwise.

"It's beautiful out here," I say and retract my arms so they lay at my sides. I relax my body's pull and Peeta moves to stand by my side. He bends his knees and braces an arm behind him on the ground. He sits down noisily, than lays down next to me. The ground is solid beneath us, the only thing moving being the leaves. I turn my head and look at him as he situates himself. He looks at me when he is done and I stare into his eyes I don't need to die to trust. He is everything I ever want and need. The only thing coming in between us being my fear of the unknown. His eyes are blue and honest, and open. My right hand searches to find his on the ground. I find it and squeeze it, and let my fingers trace his.

Peeta is smiling largely now, and I can't help but smile with him. He lives for these small moments, so full of blissful happiness it takes your breath away. He leans over and kisses my lips, and pulls away quickly, not wanting to ruin the moment.

"So tell me," he says smiling warmly. "Why are you here on the grass?" I smile up at the sky still feeling his eyes on me. I wish it was his hands.

"Just to think," I say honestly, turning to face him. He smiles largely, teeth perfect and straight.

"I like that you're taking time for yourself Katniss," he says more honestly than I expected. "It's just—" he struggles, I squeeze his hand in reassurance. "Watching you out here — in your world — it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," I turn from the sky and stare into his eyes again. I lean over this time and kiss him, opening my mouth, wanting to give him more. Peeta complies but pulls away after a few moments.

"When do you want children, Katniss?" He asks, against my lips and I close my eyes, trying to smother that feeling inside me, to kill it before it can ruin this moment. I swallow down the urge to get upset. It takes a moment before I speak again, Peeta's eyes are scared.

"I don't know," I say giving him the same response I did the other night. "Maybe sometime this year?" I whisper, closing my eyes. Peeta makes a noise between a groan and a moan.

"Are you saying this just for me, or do you really mean it?" I am upset, though not at Peeta. I'm upset at myself for leading him to not believe me. I have ruined him on this idea of children. All the augments I've put him through, all the punches I've thrown, and bruises I've given to his heart are doing nothing to aid me in this situation.

I have no one to blame. Not the Capitol, Prim's death, or The Games. I can only blame myself for his disbelief in me.

"I'm saying it because I mean it, Peeta," I say, opening my eyes. "I wouldn't mind having children now," I say, and sigh. "But I only want them to be yours," I look at him and Peeta makes that moaning noise again and leans forward to kiss me. I meet his lips and he kisses me for a moment before bracing a hand against my face, his palm against my chin and his fingertips on my temple.

"You are the best thing that has ever happened to me," He says looking into my eyes. His are brilliant blue whereas mine are dull and plain. "I thank God every night for those Games, because they brought me you. As sick as it is, it's true." His eyes are soft, like blue fabric, and I remember all those moments in the Games when I thought I was alone and just how alone I wasn't. His hand cradles my face and he leans up on one elbow to look down at me. His face is close and he smells like the deep forests and male musk.

I lean in to nuzzle his neck. We're like District 1 newlyweds, and I should want to vomit but it feels too right I don't. My mind is shaking, fighting a battle within itself, and I am struggling with my limbs aching to run away. I focus instead on Peeta and his strong masculine body and how his shoulders are wide and strong above me.

It's a pleasant distraction, and I feel how his hand travels from my face to my waist and how it leaves a line of heat down the left side of my body. I wish I could take back all the things I've done and said to hurt him out of my lowly fear.

I want to unfold myself and become better not only for myself, but for Peeta. If I want children, like I say I do, I need to be better for them. They deserve a Mother of example and perseverance, not this weak minded one, unable to control her emotions.

"You're going to be a great Mother," Peeta says, voice strong. I tear up then, and sit up. Peeta sits up with me and pulls me into his chest. "Katniss," He says with a chuckle. "Why are you crying?"

"Because everything's just so perfect." I say against his chest.

"Baby," Peeta's lips brush the to of my head as he speaks. "It's perfect because you make it that way. Happiness is a relative thing," He explains to me. "We are what we make of it," Peeta has a way with words. Able to twist them and make them tangle in with the stars. I wish I was as beautiful with words as Peeta is.

I want to write him poetry just because he deserves words like that. Peeta holds me — his large hands pressing against my lower back, and his muscled arms wrapped around my body. His blonde hair was silky against my face.

"I love you so much, Peeta," I admit. "So much it hurts," I say and am shocked at the truthfulness in my words. I'm waiting for something to bring me down, but all there is the pounding of my heart in my chest. Peeta sighs, and pulls me tighter against him, and I want to melt myself into him and make him mine forever.

"You're my life now Katniss," He whispers. "Everything I am, and ever will be, is yours," I cry freely now, and Peeta presses me closer so my tears absorb into his shirt. It's cotton is rough against my face. Peeta can afford nice clothes now, and so can I, but we still wear are scratchy District 12 clothing rations. I breath and cry until I can cry no more. My cheeks are raw and my lips are swollen but I pull away and Peeta grabs onto my face.

"I never want you to feel alone again," He whispers before kissing me. His mouth his hot, and he tastes like peppermint and chocolate. On this spring afternoon, I capture the moment. It's warm air, and sunny skies, with dew on the grass. The trees that sway in the gentle breeze and remind me of everything I used to love.

It reminds my of hunting with my Dad, and the way he always shown in this weather like a night star. I embrace Peeta in my arms as if to drink him up and soak him into my body. I want to make him a part of me, because when he is there, I know nothing will ever happen to him.

"I'm better now, Peeta," I say as I pull away from his mouth his eyes are shining. "I want you to know you will never be alone again. I'll always be here for you," I look in his eyes, and I can feel his soul. It's warm and bright and everything I would expect from someone like him. I'm never going to leave him alone. I promise to myself that he will never be left wounded by me, or hurt by my words. I will take out frustrations on this thing inside me, not to him and his innocent soul. I will give him what he deserves.

We sit for awhile, folded in each others arms, and after awhile Peeta shifts his legs.

"What's wrong?" I ask, instantly worried.

"Nothing, Katniss," He says reassuringly. "They just cramp up every once and awhile."

"They shouldn't do that so quickly."

"Don't worry about it," He shrugs it off. I want to argue, to make my point clear that something is wrong and that he should get it checked out. I want him to see my way. I swallow it down though, and it's white hot in my stomach.

"Okay," I get out. Peeta raises his eyebrows but doesn't comment. "Let's go to the bakery," I suggest and stand up and brush the dirt and grass off my pants. Peeta struggles to stand up so I grab his forearm and steady him. He turns red not wanting the help.

"I got it, Katniss," He mutters, and still I don't let go of his arm. Even when he is fully upright and standing, I hold his arm and lace my fingers through his. I stare at our feet, and silently wish I can give him his mobility back. Peeta deserves everything perfect in this world. A leg being the first thing.

We walk over the ferns and into the concrete ground of his patio. Peeta has set up bird feeders and bid houses that clutter his tree branches, but these simple things tug at the strings in my heart. He's so sweet sometimes, that I can't help but love him more.

I don't let go of Peeta's hand as we walk though the town square. I want people to know he is mine, and that I am his. Peeta, I know, has wanted to show the townspeople this since we first returned back to District 12, but I never let him. Not until now. Now I want him to parade me around, and show to those Capitol women that he isn't just a handsome tribute. He's my handsome tribute.

"So what do you want to do at the bakery?" Peeta asks turning to look at me, I shift my gaze to the cobblestone beneath our feet.

"Well," I say trying to find the right words. "You saw me in my place," I point out. "I want to see you in yours," I look up at him then, and Peeta is grinning like I said the most perfect of words.

"Okay," He says turning his gaze down, then lifting it back up to me. "That sounds like fun," I smile and lean in and peck his lips lightly with a kiss. Peeta isn't upset that I brought him here to bake, or that I want to sit lazily and I watch him work. All he wants is for me to have interest in him, and it makes me sad that I have denied him of these simple pleasures.

We reach the bakery and Peeta, still holding my hand, reaches into his pocket with his free hand to grab his keys. He jangles them around for a bit before finding the one he wants and unlocking the door.

His bakery always smells like him, so when I walk in I immediately feel safe and warm and whole. The door rings as it is shut behind us. Peeta is tugging on my arm, I have stopped walking. I am just so at home I don't want to move.

"You okay, Katniss?" Peeta asks. I look at him, his blue eyes and blonde hair and muscled body. His white t-shirt the way it hugs him in all the right places, and his black pants that hang low on his hips. He's everything I could have ever wanted, the only person that stuck around through my constant thrashing and mood-swings. He's the only who has been at my side even when I didn't want him there. The only one who hasn't left me.

I walk towards him, and lightly stand on the tips of my feet so we can be more eye-level. I grab his face in my hands, and they barely engulf his face like his do to mine. I stare into his watery eyes, their sea ocean blue and wonder how someone could be made perfectly for someone else.

"I owe you everything Peeta," I whisper close to his mouth, looking up at his eyes. "I love you so much, no matter how many times I say it, it won't even come close to how I feel," Peeta smiles a small smile and kisses my lips. I close my eyes and let it take me over. Nothing I can ever say or do can ever repay him for what he has done for me. From taking care of my health, to feeding me, for being with me on December nights — I'm in debt to him so much.

Though Peeta won't accept any sort of repayment, all he wants are simple things like love letters, and kisses on cold nights. Priceless things that I take for granted, but that he cherishes forever.

I pull away from the kiss, letting him savor this moment, because I know that's what he wants to do: take a mental image and make it his little haven.

"I love you, Katniss" He mummers. "Forever and always," I kiss him lightly on the lips again, and then turn away, now tugging on his arm.

"Let's bake," I say with a smile.

"You mean, while I bake and you watch?" He says with a smile. I laugh and let it fill my chest with its warmth.

"Yes, that's what I mean," Peeta is emulating happiness and radiating heat like the sun. He loves this carefree part of me that I'm showing. He has waited so long for it to show it's face in me.

"So what are you baking today?" I ask.

"Your favorite," He says simply, stepping around to go behind the counter. I lean forward on the glass counter and rest my chin on my folded arms in front of me.

"And what would that be?" I expect him to say Cinnamon dough, but he smiles cheekily and turns pink.

"The Peeta Special of course," I laugh again, and this time I feel it in my toes.

"Oh, and you're so sure I'd like this?" I ask, smiling still.

"Of course I am," He says leaning forward and the tips of our noses touch and our breaths mix with one another. I kiss him this time, opening my mouth to taste him. His peppermint chocolate combination is swirling in my head making me dizzy. I want this counter away from in between us, it's just another obstacle I have to get over. Peeta pulls away though.

"I need to go bake," He says smiling. I stare at him as he turns and gets ingredients out of the cupboard.

This is love. I know it is. This feeling that nothing can harm me, and that someone can protect me was so foreign to me, I didn't recognize it when I had it: didn't know what to do with it. But right now, watching Peeta in his kitchen, nothing can stop me from feeling the love I have for this man and his silly words and ways. He's apart of me, and how I protected Prim, I will protect Peeta and give him everything he needs and deserves. Nothing will ever harm him, not even me. Never again.


	10. Beliefs and Hopes Surrendering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The song that inspired this chapter is "Soldier's Eyes" by Jack Savoretti.

"How are you today, Miss Everdeen?" the Doctor asked me bright smiled and skin tan from vacation. The office is stuffy, air stale, despite the fan and several house plants lying around. I want to run, and get to Peeta's warm arms that await in the waiting room for me. But instead I sit here and answer the Doctor.

"Fine," I say smothering the hysteria rising up in my throat like a sickness. He smiles small, recognizing the simple one word answers from me. The Doctors don't expect much out of me anymore, though sometimes they'll strain their voices, stressed, and will force a response from me just so they can tag me with a name for my illness. This Doctor is no different. He wants to put a name to this thing that rests inside me, because when there is a name, it is easier to fix.

"Anything new happen this week?" He asks the same routine question. I want to slam my hands against the couch and scream out that yes, something is different, and I fixed it without your help, but I don't. I just sit here and stare at him as vacantly as I can manage. I haven't seen this Doctor before, he's new and fresh like meat. He's probably heard from other Doctors about my manic episodes and developed an opinion of me before I could even speak up.

"How was your morning?" He asks voice soft and caring. I usually don't get asked about my morning, it's usually about my past and it's influences. So I reel back a bit shocked at how out of routine this question is.

"Beautiful," is and slam my mouth shut. I hardly ever use adjectives when I speak, rarely for Peeta, and never for Doctors.

"Why was it beautiful?" He asked me and I shake my head, upset with myself. I grab the armrests and watch my fingers turn white as they try to hold my body to this chair. This shitty couch- old and orange and familiar to my body and that Doctor behind the black desk that is foreign.

I want to take back my word and put it back in my body. Keep where it belongs. Now I'm obligated to say something, and this chance to tell someone new about my progress with Peeta and how he has saved me from myself and become a vital organ to me.

"Because of Peeta," I say, voice taut and tense. The Doctor smiles hugely, white teeth spreading over tan cheeks. The Doctor waits five minutes for a response, but when he sees I'm not elaborating anymore, he speaks.

"What did Peeta do that made this morning so beautiful?" I think back to our lying in the grass, and my promise of a child to him. The way his hands folded dough into a delicious pastry, and the way his nose brushed with mine when he leaned into me. Everything he does, the soft breaths he makes, his easy smiles and carefree nature despite all the obstacles thrown at him. He is the perfect definition of humanity and it's beauty.

"We decided to have a baby," I say, voice stretched. I stare at this new Doctor, his kind eyes, and vacationed tan skin, and wonder what made me spill the most intimate of secrets I have at this point. The Doctor looks at my paperwork in front of him. He furrows his brows and looks up, confused.

"So you admit that you and Mr. Mellark have had intimate relations?" Pen ready, he sits, waiting to hear the response that I have not given to any Doctor.

"Yes," I say and look up from lap to meet his hazel eyes. He is young. "We have made love," I push my face upwards in arrogance, using Peeta's terminology, hoping it will mask the unpleasantness in "intimate relations" go away. The Doctor marks something in the paperwork, than puts his pen down and leans back in his chair. His naturally green and honey flecked eyes look at me and aren't studying me or judging. They're caring, and remind me of my Father's looks that he'd give me when I started hunting on my own.

"Have you decided when?" He asks me.

"No," I answer truthfully. I look down at my hands resting on the armrests, and pull the loose thread there. "I want to soon though," I say and look at him.

"Why soon?" He folds his hands together and rests them against his flat stomach.

"Because I have kept Peeta waiting long enough," I look down from his eyes and clench my eyes shut. I make it sound like Peeta is forcing me, when in actuality it is far from that. I open my eyes and the Doctor is still looking at me, not tired of expecting worst.

"Do you think he'd wait for you to be ready?" He asks.

"I am ready," I say, and feel the next words deep in my chest. "I'm ready to be everything he needs."

"Do you think you're not good enough for him?"

"Yes," I say, and despite the joy of the morning, the revelations, and epiphanies, I still, honest to God, feel like I am less than his beauty. The Doctor nods his head like he can understand this.

"Do you mind if we bring Mr. Mellark in?" I think to where Peeta sits, elbows resting on his knees probably, and hands folded in front of him. Never, has a Doctor asked if I'd like Peeta in here with me, or to talk about my problems. I probably wouldn't have let him come in anyway if they had, but this new Doctor, his new method, and my willingness to break out of all routines wants Peeta in with me now.

I nod my head.

"I'll go get him," The Doctor smiles at me, and pushes himself from his chair and it rolls slightly back from the movement. I sit and start to pick at the skin around my fingernails again. They're raw and the flesh stings, but I continue anyway.

"If you'd please sit next to Miss Everdeen, Mr. Mellark," The Doctor says, gesturing to the empty spot next to me. Peeta smiles down at me, not confused or scared, but happy. He grabs my hand in his calloused one and holds it between both his hands. Smothering it in warmth like his entire being.

"Welcome Mr. Mellark, I'm Dr. Anthony, Miss Everdeen's new psychologist," He smiles warmly from across the desk. His eyes are terrifyingly those of my Father's, so I look down.

"Hello," Peeta says.

"Miss Everdeen agreed to have you come in here after she told me you both were deciding to have a baby," I look up at Peeta's face to see if he is upset, but he is grinning, a rosy tint to his cheeks.

"Yes, we decided this morning," He says and bumps my shoulder with his. I smile now, because everything Peeta does is so light hearted and perfect. I look up at the doctor and he is smiling now. I can't blame him, Peeta's glow is too contagious.

"When do you think you'd like to have a baby?" Dr. Anthony asks.

"I don't know," Peeta shrugs, smiling. "Whenever Katniss wants to, I guess," He says looking down at me.

"Katniss what do you think?" The Doctor asks, drawing attention back to the point of bring Peeta in. "When would you like to have children?"

"As soon as possible," I mumble, not wanting Peeta to hear, but he does, and his hands become limp around mine.

"What?" He asks, looking at me. I shift my gaze from his blue eyes to my raw hands.

"I'd like to have a baby as soon as possible," I mumble again. Peeta pulls a hand away from mine to run it through his hair.

"Why Katniss?" Peeta asks, slightly angry. I shuffle my eyes from the Doctor to my hands I don't want to argue about something this intimate in front of him. "Are you feeling pressured? I don't want you to feel that way," The Doctor leans forward and writes something down. I want to know what it is.

"I just—" I struggle. "I just feel like you deserve a baby," Peeta sighs deeply and presses his fingers to his eyes as if to ruin images.

"You know what Katniss?" Peeta says angry. "I don't want a baby anymore if you think it's what I deserve. I want a baby because it's a way of putting our love into something beautiful," His words are said harshly, but full of so much love I feel all my self-putdowns at once. When I thought I was only justifying myself for being with Peeta, I was making this so much worse on him.

"So you don't agree with Katniss saying she wants a baby because you deserve it?" The Doctor repeats. Peeta nods. "You want one because it represents your love for her."

"Yes," Peeta says tensely, turning his face so it does not face mine. I reach over and pull against his cheek.

"Peeta," I say wanting his attention. He doesn't move his face. I pull harder until he sighs and turns.

"What?" He says upset. I look at his eyes which refuse to meet mine.

"I'm sorry," I say and lean forward and kiss his lips which are unresponsive beneath mine. "I know this hurts you, I just —" I choke up then and Peeta looks up at me surprised that I am admitting this. I am surprised at myself. I didn't expect to be so honest.

"It's okay," Peeta says pressing his forehead against mine. "I'm here for you, okay? You need to remember that Katniss. I don't want a Capitol woman, or a perfect body, or blonde hair," He says pulling away so he can look at me. I don't remove my eyes from his. "I want you."

"I love you so much Peeta," I say and kiss him then, and this time he accepts. I pull away and sit back against the couch to look at the Doctor.

"I think you've made a lot of progress today, Miss Everdeen." The Doctor looks at me and his eyes are still my Fathers.

"Thank you," I say and Peeta's hand squeezes mine. I look up at him and am hit with how much love I have for him, and just how right that love is. His pale skin, golden hair, and blue eyes are everything I could ever want and could ever need.

This love I have for him isn't wrong, or underserved, it's perfect, and everything that he and I both need. There is nothing unjustified about it, or unfair, it's everything it's supposed to be.

I am happy without doubt for the first time in years.

"Would you two object to meetings every other week?" Dr. Anthony asks.

"I usually have two meetings a week," I point out. The Doctor scourges up his face and looks at me.

"They have you convinced you're a mental patient, when in actuality, you are normal considering your circumstances," Peeta laughs then, and I laugh too because it seems so surreal to have a Doctor tell me I am normal.

"Can she go off her medicine?" Peeta asks, serious now.

"I'm not authorized to deal with medication. You'd need to discuss that with her psychiatrist," He nods, and Peeta nods back in agreement. I love that Peeta is so involved in my health. Just how I want him to get healthy to better himself, Peeta just wants to protect me. I love him so much, my chest hurts containing it.

"I think this concludes our meeting today Miss Everdeen," He says holding out his hand for me to shake, I grasp it and feel the scars on it, and wonder what he has done in his life. "Mr. Mellark," He says holding his hand out to Peeta. He grasps it and they nod to each other. Sharing a look that says they'll protect me.

We get up and exit the room, and I reach over and grab Peeta's hand. He looks down at me and kisses my nose. I laugh and it feels good, so I just smile. Peeta looks down at our enclosed hands as we walk and he is smiling like a child. When we get out into the courtyard the trees swaying in the breeze, I stop and Peeta stops too.

I turn to him wrap my arms around his torso, trying to put him in my body and keep him there. I lean into the crook of his neck and inhale his scent that has him written all over it.

"I love you, Peeta," I say.

"I love you too, Katniss," His voice revives through me.

"And I do want a baby soon," I say and he starts to interrupt me so I continue quickly. "Maybe not right now but sometime this year. It would just make this year so perfect," Peeta pulls away from my arms and grabs my face. His palms and my jaw bone, and his fingertips at my temples. He leans forwards and kisses me until my stomach is in knots.

"I love you more than life, Katniss," He says, and I lean forward so I can kiss him again. This is what love is, I realize. Not sacrificing, and death, and sickness. But beauty, and soft words on pale skies, like lilies in the lake. This is love.


	11. Let's Unwrite These Pages

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So it has now been offically up to sync with FanFiction :) I hope you guys will continue to read and like this story! It would mean the absolute world if you'd review! 
> 
> This chapter was inspired by Rise Against's "Swing Life Away".

There is a nightstand next to me. Facing me, it's dark wood, creaked and weathered with age. I reach out in this moonlight that bathes my arm, and run my fingers over it's splintered edge. It catches in the grooves of my fingertips, and I dare something to feel more real.

A warm arm is wrapped around my midsection and it is the only thing attaching me to this bed, this world. I want to run until my heart gives out, past the fences of District 12 to the land beyond my dreams.

The sheets are crisp against my bare body, and the cotton scratches my legs. I move and find a cool spot in the fabric, where body's haven't been pressed together. Peeta's toes automatically move to find mine, unknowingly moving to be closer to me.

He's an anchor to this reality. As much as I'd like to escape and retreat to the depths of my memories, his presence forbids me. It tells me stay here, and let me heal you. I can't bring myself to leave this bed, not anymore. Before, I could willingly jump up and leave this room faster than Peeta would have time to wake up and notice I was gone.

But after everything I have said to him, and the things that I have promised him, I will lay here and not protest. His body is pressed against mine, all his muscles aligning perfectly with my back. I was made to be in his arms, sculpted by some higher power and destiny to be here right now in this moment.

But I am hallow. There is something missing, something lost of me that I don't know if I'll get back. I feel forever in circular motion, getting better, then proceeding to fallouts I can't control.

I want to control this thing inside me. Grasp my life in my hands and feel it's beating heart, knowing it's mine. I want to put a name to this thing managing my life and making it impossible to move on.

These lungs, the breathes they make are mine, and I strive to claim them as my own. They feel embedded in someone else's rib cage, a heart that beat's for someone else.

I want to make them mine again.

Peeta presses closer to my back, and I push into him, wanting to soak him in my body and claim him mine with a signature. I want to take him into me, and fuse him with my body so I know I will never fail him. With a constant presence, how can one possibly fail another?

I continue to run my finger over the nightstand until the skin has been so pricked, I no longer feel the sting of the ridges getting caught. The night isn't freezing or unbearable, it's a sweet taste of spring that I want to bleed into.

I remove my hand from the edge of the wood, and instead run my finger over Peeta's fingers, drawing a path between the bones that make his hand. I want to swallow him up and keep him hidden in my body, away from all the dangers this world has offered him.

My mind trembles at the thought of a world without him. It's not even one worth living in, this anchor that would no longer hold me in place. I need to keep him impossibly safe and close, and never let anything harm him. Where nothing can strip him of the beauties he deserves in life.

His bones are prominent beneath my fingertips, his hands warm and alive, that bring life back to my numb hands. His skin is pale and washed out in this moonlight that seeps in through the curtains.

I never sleep with the curtains open in my house, I prefer the darkness where I could imagine as many things as my cryptic mind was able to conjure, and would be able to thrive in the memories of could have been.

But here, in Peeta's house, in his arms, in his bed, I want to see the stars and the moon light up on his hands and see the way they reflect on his closed lids like rain on rosewater.

This love I have for him is horribly painful in my chest and belly. I want to scream it out, to release it's stress inside me. There is nothing I can say or do, that will ever reflect the feeling in my body. This thing I don't have a name for, and probably never will.

Peeta breathes into the back of my neck, and it's warm and comforting, knowing that he is here, and nothing can take him away from this moment. His leg wiggles in between mine, scratchy and welcomed.

I love his legs. The masculinity his calves and thighs hold. The way the hair there is more golden then the top of his head. When I see him run around the District, working his body in the freezing cold, I quietly imagine the muscles moving beneath his pants, like a machine's, perfect and gearing towards the finish line.

I turn in his arms, and his body moves to accommodate me, and I lean into his neck when I get settled. He smells like a summer that turns into autumn, sweet like apples and spicy like cinnamon. I want to take it and keep it around me forever.

I reach over and brush my fingers over his closed lids. They're purple, a sign he hasn't been sleeping properly. I will watch him more closely from now on, to make sure he doesn't get up and walk around while I am sleeping.

I stare don at our bare bodies that are pieced together in the moonlight. These sheets that cover me, and part of his chest are unnecessary to me — I want all our warmth to come from our bodies and ours alone.

Peeta stirs beneath me, and I wish I hadn't disturbed him, because he needs a full nights rest. His eyes open and close, trying to shake the blurriness of sleep that chains them.

"Katniss?" Peeta asks.

"Hi Peeta," I whisper and kiss his sleepy mouth.

"What is it?" He asks and moves his mouth for it to become responsive. I watch him as he shakes this sleep off him like an exoskeleton.

"I love you," I say and kiss him again. He lays a heavy hand over the side of my face and chuckles deep in his chest.

"I love you too," He pulls away, and I stare into his eyes that turn a sky pale blue in this dim light.

"I don't think I can ever say it enough to hold it's meaning," I admit honestly. Before these breaks in our routines I would never admit this, but now, I can say it without feeling regret, or fear. Peeta sighs and leans in to kiss me again, more awake.

Our bare bodies move together in synchronization, his legs intertwining with mine, and my arms going to his shoulders, his hands at my waist.

"You need sleep," I say as I lean away from his mouth. Peeta kisses his way down my jaw to my neck where he reaches out and licks the pulse point there.

"You're the one who woke me up," He points out. I would protest, but instead I sigh into his touch, and press into his body, feeling the planes of his chest against my stomach and chest.

"You do," I say breathless.

"I do," He admits and shifts downwards so he can kiss across my chest. I moan has he takes my breast into his mouth, the chill of the night, no longer lingering. Everything is on fire.

His hands, the way they squeeze my hips and mold the flesh there. His mouth, it's tracing of desire across my body. Everything is igniting in my body, and I want to slow things down, so I reach and grab Peeta's face and pull it up to mine.

I kiss him, pushing my tongue forward so it brushes him, and his smell seems to be amplified in his mouth — he tastes like coated caramel apples. I push his shoulder over so I can easily straddle him. Peeta allows this, I know he secretly likes this — me taking control of the situation. Sometimes I wish he'd have animalistic desire to be dominant, but he's perfectly happy with me taking Alpha position over him.

In the dark faint glow, I kiss across his chiseled jaw and down his neck, were I feel him swallow deeply. I kiss across his chest and inch myself lower. I love his legs, the masculine power they have, but his hipbones are my weakness.

The are prominent, lines sculpted as if drawn out by the hands of an artist. I want to know what he tastes like there. I kiss his abdomen, feel his tremble, and feel him grow underneath my chest where he is warmly pressed against me. I flick my eyes upward and see him watching me.

I look down and kiss my way to the top of his left hipbone. I stick my tongue out and taste him there, and it tastes like him — tangy and sweet, yet more desirable. I lick slowly, loving the way Peeta is moaning unrecognizable words. I listen to him, as I lick down to where it dips into the most sensitive part of him. I lay one final kiss and look up at him. Asking for permission.

"No," Peeta say shakily. I wonder if he is still afraid of having an episode.

"You were fine yesterday in the shower —" I start before he interrupts me.

"I know," He says, voice trembling. He leans back and runs his hands over his face. He sits up then and heaves me up in his arms and places me under him. I feel him, huge against my stomach.

"Why Peeta?" I almost moan it out, unhappy I can't pleasure him the way other women do to their men.

"It's just —" He says, looking down. "It's just so impersonal," I am surprised then, not expecting that to come out of his mouth. He kisses me than and pulls away. "Touching me is one thing," He states. "Because I can see your eyes. If you do that—" He breaks off, obviously upset. "It's downgrading you."

He is perfect. So unbelievably perfect, I lean upwards and kiss his mouth until I can't handle the knots in my stomach. I run my hands over his back, and feel the muscles taut, and defined.

"Now, Peeta," I whisper against his mouth. He removes his hands from my face and braces them on either side of my face, gripping the sheets. He pushes into me, and I let out a breathy moan.

"Peeta," I gasp out. He huffs out a breath and shakily kisses my lips. He pushes further, and slowly starts a rhythm. I wrap my legs around his lower back, wanting him as close as humanly possible. I feel him, hot and stretching in me, and I lean up and kiss the tip of his jaw. He pulsates in me, and I moan out loud, not able to contain it in my body anymore. He collapses on top of me, and I thrive on his weight.

"You are so fucking perfect, " He manages, and I laugh because cursing Peeta is so rare. Peeta starts to roll over, but I wrap my legs around him and keep him pressed against me.

"Stay," I say emphasizing the firmness in my voice. Peeta nods and stays pressed against me. He leans into the crook of my neck and I nuzzle his shoulder blade. Everything about him is defined and pronounced, morning runs and heavy lifting to blame. "I love you," I whisper into his moonlight bathed skin.

"You're so perfect Katniss, I am thankful everyday to have you in my life," He says, and I clench my eyes shut, not wanting tears to ruin the moment.

"I want you to know something Peeta," I say more aloud. "You are the most perfect man and I wouldn't want anyone else besides you," He sighs, and presses a warm kiss into my neck.

"You have no idea how long I've waited for you Katniss," He says, then pulls away so he can look at me and I look up into the eyes of a man who loves me, and who I love ten-fold. "I've never stopped waiting," He says.

I realize then, that Peeta has waited countless months, no matter how many times we've had sex, or the numerous of times we've kissed, he was still always waiting for me to resurface.

"I'm here, Peeta," I whisper. "You don't need to wait anymore."


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! So I know this week is supposed to be The Fragile's week, but Paradise was calling to me and I had to update this story. If any of you follow me on Tumblr or Twitter, than you know that someone demanded more plot and I was all paranoid about it, but I think I found the perfect balance in this chapter, let me know what you think! Thank you to everyone who reviews, alerts, favorites, and reads! It's an absolutely amazing feeling! All songs are posted on my blog, if you want to listen while you read ;)
> 
> This chapter was inspired by The Decemberists "This Is Why We Fight".

Peeta's house is alive with something. I don't know if it's because it's his, or simply because the love I am feeling is exuding out of me uncontrollably. I want to take these plain walls and let them soak in the sun and take it's glow and radiate it's warmth. I want to take Peeta's memory wall and envelop myself in it. I want to wear all the limbs and eyes of people I have known like a blanket.

Peeta is cooking at the stove, his back turned to me, and I admire the way his muscle flex and move beneath the thin t-shirt. The way his tan skin glows faintly beneath white cotton. He is wearing boxers, and I shift my gaze down his body to watch the way his feet move across the floor to reach for things he wants.

I bring my legs up to my body, and wrap my arms around them. The wooden chair presses against my back and I rest my head against my knees. I love watching him cook. His confidence, his dominance, his relaxed state, everything about his demeanor is that of a skilled craftsman. I want to soak him into my veins and let him pulse through me — something that keeps me alive.

"You want anything special?" He asks, turning a smiling face towards me over his shoulder. The hem of his t-shirt moves upwards a bit, and my eyes flicker down to the newly exposed skin. I look back up at him quickly.

"Whatever you're making is fine," I say, and try to throw in a smile. It comes out all wrong, I can feel the awkwardness on my face, but Peeta just glows more and smiles more grandly and turns back to what he is making. It smells like batter and chocolate.

This man, who was once a boy I was destined to kill, is now making me breakfast in his small kitchen. This man, who despite everything I have thrown at him is here, smiling at me and making me feel like the luckiest woman in the world.

The mail is in front of us, mine and his combined, ever since I asked the delivery man to drop mine off at Peeta's house. I flip through the mail, one from Haymitch, one from my Mother, one from the Baker's association. I flip through the random messages, until I notice one by the familiar scrawl.

It's from Gale.

I look at Peeta, and watch as he flips something over in the pan. I slip the small cream colored envelope over in my hands and flick a finger under the edge of the card and tear it as quietly as I can open. It's a single, small white page, and I open it to see his handwritten, messily thrown together words.

_Hey Catnip,_

_How've you been? I hope all is well, your Mother tells me you've been better according to Peeta. You hardly ever call us up over here in 4 so I decided to write you instead. You wouldn't have answered is I called. We're doing pretty good over here, I've been watching over your Mom, and the construction in 4. It's going pretty well._

_There's a point to me writing this, I promise. I know you could care less for my small talk. So I'm just going to cut it down to a manageable amount of bullshit. Jenna is pregnant. It's fast, I know, I was surprised to say the least when I found out, and now she's almost five months along._

_Announcing this isn't the point of this letter, there's a purpose. Jenna and I have talked about it, and wanted to know if you and Peeta would be the Godparent's of our child. It would mean the world to her, and I couldn't agree more that you two would be the absolute perfect role models._

_I hope that I hear from you soon enough, and that we can talk sometime._

_Stay strong._

_Gale._

My mind is shaking, it's becoming a living thing separate from my body. How can Gale move on from the war and have children, and I can barely stay confident with Peeta? It has taken me six months to recover and get back to Peeta. I only want a child because Peeta deserves one. Why can't I just love him, and have a baby, like Gale and Jenna?

I want to shake myself for not being normal. I want to be perfect and glorified, and have children like I should want. I want to recover like Gale has an move on with my life. The Doctors have told me countless of times that children will not make things any better, but I doubt that. Maybe children is exactly what I need.

Peeta would be happy, so this may be exactly what we need. I think about what day of the month it is, and what it means. It means my body is ready to become a Mother, and that I would take on that responsibility. I slide the card back into envelope and set it behind the vase of roses Peeta has seated there.

I get up and set my feet steady against the ground and stand up. My weight falls evenly, and I take the steps needed so I am behind Peeta. I place my hands against his shoulder blades and feel the muscles there. I lean up on my tiptoes and kiss where the collar of his t-shirt meets his neck.

"I love you so much Peeta," I say and glide my hands so they meet at his heart. It beats under his rib cage and skin, and he's so alive I want to cry. Peeta take a deep breath and stops moving. Whatever he is cooking is sizzling on the pan, and he moves his left hand to turn off the heat. He turns in my arms and faces me, and he's not smiling, or upset. He's just Peeta, looking at me.

"I love you with everything that I am. I'll never be able to say it enough Peeta," I remove my arm from his back and bring them so they cradle his face. I lean forward and kiss his full lips, and I kiss him until I start to taste saltwater and realize that I am crying. Peeta grasps my face, and I look into his perfect eyes that I couldn't imagine never seeing again.

"You're everything, Katniss. You're my beginning," He whispers against my lips. "And you'll forever be my life," He whispers and than kisses me. He kisses me and it's not lust-filled or heavy — it's everything a proclamation of love would be like, and I want to embed this in the fabric of my being.

This house, it's concrete slabs and tasteless decorations, and lackluster colors are so beautiful with Peeta in them. He is the light to the darkest of things, a beauty rare in it's form, something that only arrives every hundred of years.

He's a star, beautiful in it's death, a stunning turn of destined events that cause radiating beauty. Everything about him is perfect. The way his hands travel from my face, to the sides of my neck, and his fingertips calloused despite the delicate work he does.

I want to embed him in my soul and drink him up like I want to do the sun. Keep everything I love in me so when the time comes, I'll never have to live without them. They will always be inside of me like a vital organ.

Peeta's mouth is warm and wet against mine, and I taste is tongue which tastes like his batter chocolate mixture, and I want to feel him against me so I open my mouth, more and will him to come closer. He steps forward and it should knock me off balance, but it doesn't. Peeta continues to push me back until I feel a wall pressed against me.

His hands trail desire down my arms, and I feel like I am on fire.

His mouth is rough against mine, and I should hate it, but all I know is that it is Peeta, and I love him whether he kisses me rough or softly. I grab his hair, and tangle my fingers in the golden hue and I want to be rooted to this place — with my fingers in his hair and his mouth on mine.

I detach my hands from his hair and move them so they rest against his pectorals. My fingertips press into the flesh there, and Peeta makes a noise deep in his throat and presses me harder against the wall.

I hitch my leg up so Peeta can move his other leg between mine, I lower my leg so it wraps around his like a coiled snake. His hands grab my hipbones, and he hitches my shirt up and his fingers are white hot against my skin there, and I try to manage my breathing against his mouth.

Peeta pulls away, and I open my heavy lids and look at the way the lower half of his body is pressed against mine, and his chest pulled away to look at me. He has a smile on his face, one that engulfs his body in a grin, and I look down at our hips smashed against one another's and look up at him.

"I was supposed to make you breakfast," He says.

"I like this better," I say, and reach my hand out and grasp the nape of his neck, pulling him back to my lips. Peeta groans, and I moan into it, loving the sounds coming off him. Haymitch can probably hear us, and I don't care, because I want all of District 12 to know he is mine.

Peeta detaches himself from me again, and presses his forward against mine. I feel his breath on my lips and I close my eyes and think about all the things I love about him. His hands, his legs, his eyes, his voice, his hair. Everything about him is so loved, and I don't know what I have to do to get him to know.

"Katniss, you know we can't," I open my eyes to find his closed and his eyebrows furrowed. "It's that time again," He says and I am aware then that if Peeta pays attention to this, how he has memorized that days when we can have children, and when we can't. He was destined to be a Father, just as I was destined to be his.

"Let's do it Peeta," I say and swallow the panic choking in my throat. "Let's have children," Peeta flickers his eyes open then, and I look into them, and force myself not to break eye contact.

"You're sure?" He asks.

"I'm positive," I say and lean forward and claim his lips as my own. His mouth his more powerful against mine, and his hands more strong. I wrap my legs around his waist, and I know we are forgetting everything we started this morning, but I could care less.

His hands are more prominent against my body, I can practically feel them against my bones, and he heaves me up in his arms, and carries my upstairs and I get lightheaded at the thought of all this muscle in him stretching and pulling to carry me upstairs.

He lays me down on the bed, the down comforter soft and white against my body like snow. I push upwards and sprawl myself over the bed. Peeta grabs the edges of his shirt and pulls it off, and then I do become hazy at the sight of him.

He crawls over top of me, his biceps and triceps working to keep him leveled over top of me. He presses the lower half of himself against me and I let out a breath I didn't know I was keeping in. He feels hard against me, and I am turning into liquid under him, and wonder how I can keep myself afloat.

His mouth his hot against mine, and he keeps tasting like chocolate, and I want to take him further into me so I spread my legs and he groans into my mouth. I reach my hands down and shimmy myself out of my underwear, and I then hook my hands in Peeta's boxers and pull them off of his body. Peeta looks down at me, concerned if I will regret this later.

"I'm fine Peeta," I say to him and myself. "I want this," I throw in for my benefit. He nods his head and kisses his way down my neck, and his hands trial over my breasts and stomach. My hands find his shoulder blades and trail down his spine, loving the way he contracts when I let my hands travel.

His hands travel down my scars, over my sides, and grips my hips. He lifts them up, and slips into me, and I let out a moan that I had been keeping in. Peeta groans and lets his head loll forward to the crook of my neck. He groans out and pulls out of my, and I spread my legs to bring him deeper.

He comes back and I feel his hot breath against my neck as he starts a rhythm. He lifts himself up and looks down at me.

"I love you," He makes out, and I grasp his upper arms, and feel the strength there.

"I love you so much, Peeta," I say and watch as he closes his eyes, and continues his motions. He continues, and I feel him, large and stretching. I look up at him, concentrated and focused, and know without a doubt, he will be the perfect Father.

Peeta breaks, rhythmless, and I feel him inside me, and I let out unrecognizable words, and he stays propped up above me while my mind and body shakes. He stays above me for a few moments before his arms start to tire and shake. He rolls over to my side, and faces me and lets out a laugh and a smile.

"I can't believe we did that," He says and leans over and presses a sloppy kiss to my mouth.

"I love you, Peeta," I say and latch him in a hug, our hot bodies over the cool sheets. The air is alive with something, and I cherish the moment. It is light out and it streams through the curtains that play across Peeta's skin like children in the plaza.

"You're my life, Katniss," He says and I press myself closer.


	13. All Our Blood Lying On The Floor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hey guys! Sorry it's been a couple of weeks since I last posted. I updated The Fragile and I was writing another Katniss and Peeta story. I hope everyone likes the direction this story is headed. I love hearing feedback from you guys, it's what keeps my motivated to write and it makes me so happy to know that people like this story. I just love feedback in general ;) This chapter was edited by the awesome jennibrolawrence19! Thank you so much! Thank you all so much for reading ;)
> 
> This chapter draws inspiration from How To Destroy Angels' "The Space In Between"

This house is fucked. It's fucking putrid and I want to vomit every time I'm forced to sit in it. Which is, again, fucked, because no one forces me to do anything. I choose to sit here alone in my sorrows and fucked up memories. I'm the enabler. I am the one addicted to the memories and I am the sole proprietor. I can't blame these bloody hands on anyone besides myself.

These hands that stretch bone and expand skin, bloody and raw like the inside of a body exposed. I have picked at them on this floor for hours now. I have ripped the cuticle and slivered the skin into ribbons which bundle up near my knuckles. It feels real, and alive. Something I can control and absorb.

My pinkies are little red stems, my ring fingers are bodies of dead soldiers, my middle fingers rivers of blood, my index fingers are flames, and my thumbs are delicate red primroses.

The floor beneath my folded legs are full of Peeta's drawings that I asked him to paint for me. This wasn't his intention, and neither was it mine, but when the opportunity to feel something and remember it arose, I couldn't stop myself from peeling back my skin. I just wanted to see what lay underneath.

Was it as ugly on the inside as the outside? Were my muscles burned and charred like the splays of flesh on my body? So I pulled back to find out. Nothing's wrong with a little curiosity.

But I was surprised when there was nothing there behind these hands. Hands that have killed things, hands that have choked, thrown, fought, grasped, and melded things. All that lied there was muscle and blood that drips down my nail beds onto the floor.

This concrete floor needs color though, I have refused any sort of decorating my Mother has offered, and have relied solely on the Capitol essentials. There is no color but gray, black, white, and beige. This red looks good here, it belongs to this house more than I do.

My boots are scuffed and dirty and the ridges inside are pressing against my bones, and I have never felt so much in one day so I don't move. I haven't felt anything since Prim and the war, and after that, it's just a blur of Peeta's face, his bakery, and his house. Peeta should be enough for me, but I'm sick and wanting, so it's not.

I bend my wrist and point my foiled fingers downwards and watch the blood drip. The pain his horrible, excruciating, and white, but I keep it bent. There is a pool forming around my bottom, but it feels so real I let it continue. There is a knock at my door. It's beating, and beating, pounding hysteria into my brain. I am submerged in feeling.

"Katniss!" I hear above the heartbeat in my ears. "Katniss!"

The door pushes open and Peeta steps in, empty handed and dressed in old hunting boots I gave him, a black t-shirt, and his working pants. I flicker my eyes back down to my dripping hands. It's fascinating.

"What the fuck, Katniss?" Peeta asks. His words are harsh and slap-like, but his tone is astonished, shocked that I have again found myself into another predicament. I want to punch myself in the gut for the worry in his voice, because it reminds me of everything I am not for him.

"It's nothing, Peeta," I shoo him away and blood falls to the floor like rosewater. "Go away," I mutter. I tilt my hand this way and that and watch as I see the individual muscles move. Independently working for the same cause of moving my hand. I hear a squishing sound from where I sit, and then two hands are shoved under my armpits that heave me up into a standing position. I don't think my legs are willing to cooperate, after sitting in the same position for so long, so I just hang there like a rag doll.

"Why, Katniss?" Peeta asks himself. I don't answer because it's right between us and the evidence on the floor. "Come on," He says scooping me up in his arms.

It's silent between us, pregnant, and full of words we don't want to say. I stare at the ground as Peeta walks me outside the door, kicking the it shut behind us. Peeta has gotten stronger since I've last checked. It's been a while since I caught a good glimpse at his muscles beneath his shirt, of the strength in his legs.

Even though the streets are cobblestone, and uneven, Peeta seems to know his way around, and maneuvers us gracefully across the streets, dodging people crumbled against the alleys and trash littered across the concrete.

Peeta heaves me up against him and I feel the skin of his biceps brush against my arms. I look down at my hand which I cradle against my chest like a broken child. I should have stopped the initial picking. I should have looked at the pictures once, in a glimpse, and put them away to storage which was my intent. I shouldn't have peeled my skin back.

But the idea of seeing my bones and muscle, seeing what lay beneath the skin — it was too ripe of an opportunity to pass up. And to feel something other that stoic imagination, how could I deny myself of feeling something in the presence of those that I've killed? It's like paying respects for the dead you never got to say goodbye to.

I look at my bloody hands, and flick my eyes up to Peeta's face. He's not breathing heavy, like he would if he were out of shape. He is focused ahead, his expression enduring, the only thing giving him away being his eyes. They're cold, and dark. Eyes I haven't seen on Peeta before. They are like a newborn child. His eyebrows are furrowed together, forming a frown, and I want to kiss the skin between them, and release the tension there, even though I know I caused it.

"I'm sorry," I mutter, looking down at my peeled muscles. Peeta sighs deep in his chest and speaks.

"Are we getting better, Katniss? Every time I think we are, some shit like this happens," I know Peeta's upset because he hardly ever uses swear words. I clench my eyes shut, trying to ignore his response. "I don't know what to do anymore," He barely whispers.

"It's not you, Peeta," I say before realizing the words. "It's me," I lift up my heavy lids and Peeta's ocean blues are gazing down at me. "You're doing everything perfect, I'm just — I'm just not right," I look down at my hands and lift them to his eyes.

"But if I was doing things right Katniss, you wouldn't feel the need to do," He looks down at me hands. "This," I feel like shit so I let them flop against my stomach and it throbs a bit so I let them rest there.

"I'm sorry," I say again. Peeta takes in a deep breath, holds it in his chest, and lets it out. I lean my head against his chest and press my ear against his heart. It thumps against my ear, and I want to make his mine. Maybe if he was there with me in the room, looking at the ghosts of our past with me — maybe this wouldn't have happened. Maybe I've become that dependable.

Peeta crosses up on the sidewalk and turns into the medical unit, I don't open my eyes. The cold, harsh smell of bleach is enough for me to know we are at the hospital.

"Why hello, Mr. Mellark, didn't expect to see you today," Says the chirpy nurse. I wonder how she can be happy and bright amidst all this darkness.

"Neither did I, Ruse," Peeta says and I can hear a faint, sad smile on his face.

"And this, I assume is the young lady your always talking about?" She asks, voice becoming more clear with each step she takes.

"Yes, this is Katniss," He says, voice strong.

"Oh my," She says voice prominent and clear.

"I wish this was on better circumstances," Peeta says. I open my eyes, knowing I am being rude, meeting this woman for the first time with my eyes closed. I doubt this is the worst of my problems, considering I have slivered hands.

"Hi," I say, against Peeta's chest. I curl into him, and his arms tense around me.

"Let's get you to a Doctor, all right?" She says, smiling briefly. Peeta nods, and we follow Ruse into a room that is crumbling, and smelling of bleach and blood. There is a metal cot in the middle of the room and Peeta walks me over to it and sets me down gently. It's hard against my back, and I try to sit up but Peeta pushes my shoulder down. He gives me a look and I lay down unwillingly.

"Leave your hands at your side," Ruse says and I place them as softly as I can against the metal. Instant, white-hot pain shoots up my arms, and it doesn't feel good as it once did.

I look up at Peeta, and I think he can see something in my eyes, because he reaches a hand down and runs it down my hair. He buries his hand in my hair and his thumb brushes the small hairs around my ear.

"So why did you do this Miss Everdeen?" She asks after pulling my file up. I want to run away, far into the forests where I can't face my issues. Peeta's hand stalls it's movements. He knows that when I admit why I did this, they will put me on more medication. I answer truthfully.

"I wanted to feel something real," I say. She nods, not shocked or scared, she marks it on the file.

"How long did this last for?" She asks.

"A couple of hours," I say and Peeta clenches his eyes shut and breathes in quick, angry gasps.

"I'm going to bring your Doctor in, and we're going to fix you up, alright?" I nod my head. She leaves the room, and I turn to Peeta who sands above me, sad and unmoving. I hurt him every time.

"If I was there —" He starts. I want to grab his hand, but I can't, so I lean into his touch.

"It's okay, Peeta," I say, and close my eyes.

"No," He shakes his head. "If I was there, like I should have been, you'd have been alright."

"That's probably true," I admit. "But you weren't. You can't stop having a life just because I'm messed up."

"But don't you get it, Katniss?" He says, angry. "You are my life now. You hurt, I hurt," He is too good for me. I deserve so much worse than what Peeta needs and what he is. But I can't let that get to me. If I dwell to much on what I'm not and what he deserves, I'll go into a binder of shit-ridden thoughts.

"I'm sorry, Peeta," I say and look up at him. His eyes are shining and I want to soak him into my veins. He sighs and moves his gaze down.

"Let's just get you fixed, alright?" He smiles a small, sad smile and looks at me. I want to smile too, but it feels to forced so I do nothing. I hear footsteps approaching the door so I turn over to see Dr. Anthony.

"Good afternoon, Miss Everdeen, Mr. Mellark," He says nodding at Peeta, who nods back. I nod too. "So, Miss Everdeen, you wanted to feel something real?" He says reading my chart as he washes his hands. I don't say anything, so he turns to me as he dries his hands.

"Yes," I mutter.

"Don't feel embarrassed or shy. Be honest with me. It is the only way I can help," He says, his honest green eyes shining against his russet skin and dark hair. He is gorgeously handsome, and he may not know it.

"I was curious," I admit. "I wanted to know what was there," I say. He nods his head in agreement, like he has seen this before.

"This is normal, really," He says, finding faith and hope in my actions. I have never had a doctor so well for me, gentle and kind. He is so much like my father. "Many patients of mine, post-war, are curious," He says reaching for a bottle of hydrogen peroxide. I am surprised that this is not uncommon.

"She's not going to leave me, is she?" Peeta blurts out, hysteria reaching is voice. "She's not going to have to leave?"

"Well," Dr. Anthony says. "It's an option," He says, and Peeta hand tightens around my hair. "I don't recommend it though," Peeta's eyes scream relief. "As Miss Everdeen's doctor at the moment, I think living with you is the best option," He says smiling up at Peeta as he sits and prepares my hands. I nod at the Doctor, because I've known this all along.

"So, we just go on as normal?" I ask. Dr. Anthony looks up and gives a half frown.

"There will be restrictions and limitations," He says. I nod, expecting the repercussions. He takes a cotton swab and douses it in peroxide and places it on the base of my index finger. I want to grab Peeta's hand, hold it in my grip at the pain, but I can't so I just clench my eyes shut and turn into his hand. I don't want to cry. I have chosen to do this, I should face the consequences.

"It's okay," Peeta whispers into my ear. I love him.

"This will burn for a few minutes," He says as he cleans both of my hands. It's excruciating, keeping this pain locked inside of me, threatening to manifest itself in my vocals. Dr. Anthony takes a white cotton bandage and wraps my fingers individually. I can't move my fingers, they are stiff from pain.

"Will she be alright?" Peeta asks.

"Of course," Dr. Anthony looks up and smiles. "No grabbing things for at least twenty-four hours, Miss Everdeen," He says, averting his gaze to me. "And as for the restrictions, here's what I suggest," he starts. "Stay with Mr. Mellark. Go out with him. Go to work with him, go out to visit friends with him. He is your support, and you need him right now," he continues. "Go hunting, walk around town, get yourself out of the house. That is your enabler. You need to use the house for only the necessities."

He is right. The house is not my home. Peeta is.

"Is this alright for you?" Dr. Anthony asks. I nod my head, he nods in return. "I recommend that you follow these guidelines, because, from a medical perspective, your environment right now is damaging your recovery."

"So, she needs to spend time around me?" Peeta asks.

"Yes, not all the time, obviously, but more so then when being alone," He explains, than looks down at me. "If you ever find yourself alone, go find Mr. Mellark, and create a plan," He says. "You may find the extrinsic motivation beneficial," I nod, because time with Peeta is always better than the time I am alone with my thoughts.

"You can sit up now," Dr. Anthony says, and I lift myself up and Peeta's hands brace themselves against my back and help me up. I place my bandaged hands in front of me, and look up at the Doctor. "Remember, no grabbing," He says with a smile. He exists the room, signing my release papers on the way out. As I watch him go, Peeta wraps his arms around me, pressing my face against his chest.

"I thought I was going to lose you," He says whispering into my hair.

"You won't Peeta," I say, moving my cheek against the scratchy cotton t-shirt. "I promise this will never happen again," Peeta sighs angrily.

"You always promise that Katniss," He spits out. "But when is it ever going to stop being bullshit you spoon feed me?" His words are harsh, despite the loving embrace he has me in.

"I don't know, Peeta," I say torn. I want to fix myself. All I feel is anger for this thing inside me. I want to be better not only for myself, but for Prim and Peeta. They deserve the best of me. He sighs, and releases his rage.

"We'll get better," He says. "I promise."

"Thank you, Peeta," I whisper, and put the palms of my bloodied hands on his hips and push myself away so I can look up at him. "You're the best thing that has ever happened to me," His eyes warm, and he turns slightly pink.

"Come on, babe," He murmurs, and I like the way he says it, so I look down. I want to hold his hand, and I can't and it bothers me, so I instead lean against his body. Peeta wraps his arm around me and I press against his shirt. I can feel his muscles, all toned and strong, and I want to have my hands back so I can trace the planes of his chest.

But instead I have his body, warm, and loving beside me as we leave the hospital. Ruse comes beside us, brown haired and hazel eyed and smiles.

"You've got a great man there," She says. I nod my head.

"I know," I say and Peeta's arm wraps tightly around me.

"Let's go home, Katniss," He says, and nods at Ruse. "See you later,"

"Bye, Peeta," She smiles. I look up at Peeta as we walk out and before we walk outside, I look up at him.

"I love you so much Peeta," I say and kiss his full mouth. "I'm going to get better for you."

"No," He says. "You're going to get better for Prim, and Gale, and your Mother. You're going to get better for you."


	14. You Are The Reason I Stay Alive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, early update! You guys are just so amazing/awesome/beautiful/badass that I couldn't refrain myself from writing another chapter! I hope you all like this chapter, it was kind of a real experience to write. I also hope you all liked "The Hunger Games" movie! I know I did ;) Thank you to jennibrolawrence19 for being the fastest, most thorough beta ever! You guys can thank her for not seeing all of my spelling mistakes! Thank you to everyone who reads, reviews, favorites, and alerts this story! You all mean the world to me!
> 
> This chapter was inspired by Nine Inch Nails' "Closer".

My hands ache. The ghastly roar of pain has ebbed to a dull ache. I can only feel it when I concentrate on it, so I try to think of something else, like how much I enjoy being curled next to Peeta's body. He's warm, and sturdy, and I want to absorb him in my blood.

So I lean into his arms which encase me deeply, yet I wish he were gripping me more tightly. It's not enough. A part of me likes it when he takes possession of my body, claims me as his. This primitive thing, animalistic and raw, that likes to claim stake in someone else.

Peeta is sitting on the couch, reading the mail that I have collected from the kitchen counter. He has one arm wrapped around me, and the other holding up my latest doctor's report. I look up at him, concentrated, and focused and love that he is mine.

The couch is scratchy beneath my legs as I shift to reach Peeta's neck. I kiss the hollow base of his throat and feel the bone dip under his skin. His skin tastes tangy like this sweet spring we are in. Peeta's taste is everything beautiful and happy. Like our primroses in the garden and sweet lemonade. I trail kisses across his collarbone, the bare skin his t-shirt leaves exposed. Peeta chuckles and I hear him put the paper down on the table next to us. I swing my legs over so I straddle him. I make sure to keep my hands against his hips.

"Katniss, I'm trying to read here," He says. I kiss up his neck to his pulse point and flick my tongue out to taste him there. Like always, his taste is potent, and I can't get enough of it.

"I know," I mumble against his skin, not wanting to stop.

"Well, then why are you doing this?" He asks, setting the paper down and burying his now free hand in my hair, that tugs my head up to his eye level. I flick my eyes up to his and feel the heat of his gaze in the pit of my belly. The heat that I know will continue burning unless something is done about it.

"I felt like it," I say. I wish I was better and more graceful with words. Give him poetry and soft words.

"You felt like it, huh?" He asks, and this masculine smirk appears on his face and it stirs something in me so quickly, I press my lips forward to meet his. His mouth is full, and puckered beneath mine, and I sigh openly when our tongues meet. He tastes like all his baked goods, and it twists my stomach wildly.

Peeta's hands glide from my shoulders and leave trails of fire down my arms until they reach my hips where they rest, leaving pools of flames. His fingers grip my skin, and I feels the imprint of him fingers against my bones. I move my fingers around until they find the hem of his shirt. I slip my fingers beneath the thin fabric of his white baker's t-shirt and feel his muscles, chiseled and relaxed. They're warm.

"Peeta," I whisper against his mouth. "I want to take this off," I say tugging on his shirt. Peeta look at me, eyes hot as the coals, and they smolder.

"Then come do it, Katniss," He says. I let my hands travel from his stomach to his back, and feel the dip of his spine. I trace the line from the base of his neck to the base of his back and he arches against me, which causes his hips to press against mine. I let out a breath of air I was holding in.

"I love you so much," He says, and tugs my head forward to meet his lips hungrily. I grab the hem of his shirt and we break away momentarily for me to slip it from his body. I look at his with his arms raised, all strong and muscled, no longer the boy from the Games. Almost as if he shook it off him like an exoskeleton, and created a new, stronger exterior.

I grind my hips into his, and Peeta lets out a groan. He breaks away from my mouth and trails his lips down my neck and I arch into him, and press my hips forward. I feel him react, hard beneath me, and it feels good so I press against him again.

"Katniss," Peeta makes out, breathy. "Can we go upstairs?" He's so chivalrous, and I smile and kiss him lightly on the corner of his mouth.

"Sure," I mumble against kissing and licking his neck. I grip Peeta's shoulders and brace myself as he scales the stairs two at a time. We walk into the room, me latched to him in some strange symbiotic relationship. I flick my eyes open and notice the wall of limbs facing me, eyes of people I knew in mutts, or the evil dogs from our first Games. I look down before I set my nerves ablaze.

I instead focus on Peeta and how his legs tremble when I bite down at the flesh near his collarbone. Peeta lays me on the couch and he pulls away to stare at me. My hair is in its usual braid, and Peeta uses slender fingers to pick away the structured knot. He picks and pulls until my hair is spread around me in an inky mess.

"I love you with your hair down," He murmurs, eyes never leaving mine. I stare at him, willing myself to not be a coward. "I feel like it's something only I get to see," I look down than and run my hands up his forearms beside my head.

"It's all for you, Peeta," I say, and shift my gaze up to meet his. His eyes are soft now, not as hungry, but when he leans down to kiss me, it's hot and fueled. His lips are wet and mold themselves to mine, and I let him kiss me feverishly before I pull away and pull off my shirt. Peeta is surprised, because usually he has to get me distracted to take my top off.

I don't feel scared, or embarrassed of my body anymore. After Peeta's reassurances that my scars are an "embodiment" and a "relic" of who I am, I have learned to accept them. They are a part of my history just as much as Prim is. Peeta buries his hands in my hair and tugs slightly, I moan out.

"Take control, Peeta," I groan out, while Peeta pulls away from my neck to look down at me. "Just —" I struggle to find words. "Just take control of me," Peeta lulls his head, and starts to lose interest, so I wrap my legs around his waist.

"Not this again, Katniss," He mutters trying to untangle himself from my limbs.

"Just do it, Peeta," I say desperately.

"I don't want this to be rough," he says, conflicted. I am rushed with memories then of me yelling out at Peeta to punch me and hit me until I bled in our acts of intimacy. "I don't want to hurt you," He whispers, stroking my face.

"I don't want that anymore, Peeta," I say. "I just want you to take over control tonight. Do what you want. I'm here only for you tonight," I tighten my legs' grip on his body and he moans slightly.

Peeta's eyes shift from a sea blue to ocean blue, and his blonde hair flops over his eyes. He looks down at me, and grasps my wrists bringing them atop my head so I am in a position of vulnerability. I feel out of place, raw and barren, but I convince myself that this is the man I love and he wouldn't hurt me.

"Feel everything tonight, Katniss," He says. "Don't hold back," He kisses my jaw lightly. "I want you to be everything you are," Sometimes Peeta says things that make me believe in hope and faith, and they make me believe that there are still good things in this world.

"But Peeta, This is for —"

"I know, babe," He says. "But this is what I want," He emphasizes. "I love watching you be you," He kisses across my chest and I start to breathe like an infant child. He continues to hold my arms above my head and I want to be free so I can explore him, but he has a tight hold on my wrists all I can do is clench my legs tightly together and try to get his hips closer to mine. I start a rhythm, drawing my hips upwards and my legs tighter and then releasing.

"Do it, Katniss," He groans out, sucking on my neck. I arch my back and try to get movement to the lower half of my body. There are too many clothes in between us. I grind my hips into his, and feeling him pressing where I want him to.

"Peeta, get me out of these fucking clothes," I growl out. Peeta holds my wrists together with one hand and rips my underwear and pants off in one motion. He shimmies out of his cargo work shorts and I can see his bulge hard and throbbing beneath his underwear. My body unconsciously moves forward to meet his.

I need my hands back to claim his body as mine, but instead all I have are my legs so I maneuver one behind his knee and pull him forward. He shifts unwillingly. I lock his body with mine and resume my movements. Peeta is succumbing to my willingness and moving with me.

He grips my wrists hard and I feel my bones rubbing together. I want to be free, free, free, but I am chained like I want to be. This sick, animalistic part of me likes this. This twisted, sick, primitive sex. I grind my hips into his and he slams into me hard and when he pulls away I can feel him repositioning himself to enter me. I am breathing like a newborn child that gulps air like poor do food.

"Do it, Peeta!" I yell out and he enters me fast and quick, one thrusting movement. Not slow and gentle, but in the way I like it. I like this controlling, dominating Peeta, it's a version of him he leaves only reserved for me. I yell out into the open air and arch towards his body.

"Oh, Katniss," He moans out, and let's go of my wrists. They should hurt but they feel used and welcomed. I grab his face and feel his chiseled jaw beneath my hands. I force his mouth on top of mine and practically force entry into his mouth.

"I want you to fuck me, Peeta," I groan out, and I know Peeta hates these words but I say it anyway, because it's what I want and I know I will get it. He pulls out quickly and slams back into me with a severity that wasn't there before.

"I hate this, Katniss" He says as he slams back into me. I spread my legs wider and his eyes roll to the back of his head and he lulls forward. He stays submerged in me, and he touched that place inside me. I gasp out, not getting enough air to my lungs, and grasp at his back, desperate to bring him closer.

"Now, Peeta, now," I manage, and he removes his hands from my hair and twists the cotton sheets in his palms.

"Oh, Katniss," He says again and I feel him inside me, warm and stretching and I feel myself collapse around him. I open my eyes and turn to his face where I kiss his open mouth. He relaxes inside me and pulls out. He rolls over, his back facing me.

"Hey," I say. "Hey," I repeat stronger. He turns over so he can face me and I read his body language that says he is upset.

"You said tonight was for me," He admits.

"Yes, I did."

"Then why did you have to make it about you?" He says and before I can answer him, he speaks. "You know how much I hate sex," He spits out. "I believe in making love and all you can seem to think about is fucking like two mountain lions," His eyes spit fire, and he turns away from me again.

I feel them in my eyes before they can stop themselves. I haven't felt them in a while, and it strange and unnatural that tears would appear now out of all times. But his words, like a harsh slap to the face, make me see what I have done to him. And yet it also makes me feel rare in liking this strange act of rough intimacy. Like I am alienated. So I let a tear fall and press a hand against the base of Peeta's back.

Tonight was about him, like I said, and yet I made it to be what I wanted. He deserved soft caresses and smooth words. Not a hard fuck void of emotions.

"I'm sorry," I say and tears run more freely now. Peeta turns back quickly to face me.

"Oh, fuck," He says, and pulls me into his arms, he presses a hand against my head and whispers into my hair. "I don't want to make you cry, Katniss. Please, stop," He asks. And I wish I could, but I can't.

"I wish I was better for you, Peeta," I manage.

"You are perfect," He encourages. "But that style isn't for me Katniss," His eyes say volumes. "You need to understand that I have only so many boundaries that I can perform in here," He nods his head to the room around us. "I want to satisfy you in every way, but don't get this upset when I'm angry after."

"Okay," I say, knowing what I ask of him is hard.

"I just —" He stops, afraid. "I just don't know how I can please you when you like stuff like that. That's just not who I am," He admits. I let my chin rest on the crook of his neck and cry freely. I haven't felt tears in so long, all I want is for them to continue.

Because this is a sign of change. I keep things so pent up and rigid, that I never let them free, and now they are in a river of tears. I don't want them to stop, I want to keep feeling the tug at my eyes and the scratchy water.

"You do fine, Peeta," I say, hiccupping. "I just like something I shouldn't."

"It's alright to like that Katniss," He says, wrapping his arms tighter around me. "I just wish I was alright with being like that with you," he pulls away so he can look at me. "I just feel like you deserve more than an empty lay."

I know Peeta is perfect because only a real, honest man, would know so clearly his rights from wrongs. Who would admit that he doesn't want to use me just for his pleasure but wants to hold me like he thinks I need. I know that's what Peeta needs. I just let my own selfishness get in the way.

So I lean forward and press the entire weight of my body flush against his, and my mouth against his. He kiss back softly, so I match his slow pace, wanting to keep up at his level.

"I love you so much, Peeta," I say.

"I love you like it hurts, Katniss," He says. Peeta is everything I will need and want. I can sit on the floor and pick apart my hands for hours, but nothing will change that fact that I am made for him.

Some force that pulled us together like magnets, and fire to oxygen, it has drawn us together in unfortunate events. But I can't help myself or this force that things it has stripped of me. Because I gained Peeta. I can hate the death of my sister, and relive it every day of my life, but nothing will stop me from loving that I gained Peeta.

He has stuck with me through everything my life has conjured and offered. He has never once left me or stopped me. He encourages me and makes me want to be a better person, and that is love. Nothing can stop me from feel it's pain ridden claws buried deep in my chest. It's jaw like hold in my flesh, that wants me chained to his side. This thing is love, and he and he deserves it.

"I want you to know something, Peeta," I say. "You are the best thing that has every happened to me," He smiles small, and leans forward and presses a kiss against my mouth. After he kisses me lightly, he pulls me against his body and hugs me tightly so I feel our hearts sharing the same beat.

He no longer has to ask me if I'll stay. I'll always be by his side. I promised myself.


	15. Let's Walk Through The Fire Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm writing again. Just thought I'd keep up here as well as FanFiction.
> 
> This chapter was inspired by Bush's "The Sound of Winter".

I want to lay in this bed all day. With Peeta pressed firmly against my back, solid and ever-present. I don't want to get up. His arms that entrap me, like ribs do lungs, this feeling of being caged like an animal in the snares.

The birds are chirping outside and I feel their tune in my soul. It is sunrise, the glow barely peaking over the horizon. I turn my head to the side and pull away to stare at Peeta. His blonde lashes that rest gently and full against his cheeks, and his mouth red from breath. I want to take him into my body and keep him like this forever.

So I turn and push myself flush against his warm body and feel the planes of his body fit like trees do to earth, and I run the tip of my nose against the bone of his jaw. He stirs quietly. I pull away and watch as he sleepily open and clothes his mouth. I push myself against his body again.

"Katniss . . ." Peeta whines, his mouth pouting at the edges.

"Yes my love," I croon, knowing I can fix any disrupted sleep with three words. Peeta smiles small, trying to compose his face back together.

"I was sleeping," He says, barely audible.

"And I was admiring," I say back, and snake my left arm over his abdomen. "But I couldn't just watch from a distance," I say. "You know me better," He smiles, large this time, careless and carefree, and I lean upwards and kiss the corner of his mouth.

"That I do," He says and turns his head so he can kiss my mouth. I like early morning Peeta, he is so unlike pre-war Peeta, I feel sometimes in these moments like it never really happened.

But I am reminded that it did, and I pull away. I rest my chin on the crook of his neck and he sighs.

"What is it, baby?" He whispers, and I crush him tighter to me, not wanting him to escape me like so many things in my life.

"I like it when you call me that."

"What, 'baby'?" He asks, laughing lightly.

"Yes," I say.

"I'll say it as often as you'll let me," He says seriously, returning to resting atop my head. I feel guilty for these mornings. I should be sad, and not blissfully happy. If everyone I lost can't feel these things, why should I? Why do I get experience this kind of love, when the people I loved never could?

"I miss Prim," I blurt out. I haven't talked about Prim with Peeta since our first month back after the war. I attacked him once, and clawed his face to shreds while he asked why and all I could answer was my dead sister's name. So Peeta is surprised, and I can hear it in his voice.

"Prim?" He asks.

"Yes."

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asks, skeptical. I kiss the dip between his shoulder and neck and nod my head. "What's wrong?"

"I feel like this isn't right," I admit. I pull away after a few moments and look at the confusion in his face. He doesn't understand. "This," I say nodding to the space between our bodies. " Us. I feel like it's wrong to feel love."

Peeta doesn't look away from my eyes as I say this, he keeps staring at me, and I look into his blue eyes, and don't pull away like normal.

"I think," He starts, and stops. "I think this is normal, Katniss," He says my name and I like it.

"Really?"

"I feel that way sometimes too, Dr. Aurelius says it's because you can't let the past go—" I scowl at the name of my previous doctor. "But," he continues. "I think, it's normal," I look up at him and realize that I can convince myself again, and again, at how he doesn't understand me, but no matter what, he will always prove me wrong.

"You do?" I ask, and it's like a whisper and I wonder if he heard me.

"Yes, I do," He says. "Katniss, I know I get upset when you pull stupid shit on me, like the other day with your hands," I look away, embarrassed. "But after everything you've been through, it'd be wrong for this not to happen to you," I look up at him to find him gazing down at me. "Relapses are bound to be expected. Although I wish they would happen to everyone besides you."

I look down at my hands that have turned pink with scars, and I wish I could take back my actions because they are a constant reminder to Peeta and I that we are not fully healed. I lean upwards and kiss his full mouth. I bring up my hand and brush it against the shadow appearing on his skin. It's blonde, and transparent in this morning light, but I can feel it tickling my skin.

"You're perfect, you know that?" I ask. Peeta draws one corner of his mouth up in a small, shy smile, and looks down. "No, really," I say, determined to convince him. "You are the best thing that could have ever happened to me, Peeta," I like the way his name rolls off my tongue, smooth and natural, not brutally or angrily. He turns pink and looks down.

"Katniss —" He starts, and I interrupt him with a rough kiss against his mouth which he's not prepared for, and it ends up being all teeth and lips.

"I love you, Peeta," I say, and I wish I could have a poetic analogy like Peeta but all I can offer are my three words and a voice that revives something in me, and apparently in him, because his eyes turn warm and shining.

"You mean the world to me, Katniss," He whispers leaning in to kiss me softly.

"Do you think Prim is alright?" I whisper against his mouth, our lips wet and swollen. "Do you think she's happy?" I look up at him, desperate for an answer.

"I think she's right here with you Katniss. Living everything with you. You live, she lives," I close my eyes then, breaking away from him, because I am about to cry. I want to fly away, go into the sky, let it scoop me in it's arms and cradle me until I am ready to go greet Prim.

I miss her.

"You can talk to me about anything, you know," He points out, whispering into my hair.

"Thank you," I say, crying into his chest. I don't want to forgot her, I know that. But I want to send this guilt into the ocean and let it swim away. Countless doctors, and Peeta, and Gale, and Mother have told me it wasn't my fault, but I can't seem to believe it. I want to submerge this blame and drown it.

"You know it wasn't your fault," He says.

"I know —" I hiccup. "I just —" Breathe. "I miss her so much," I say. My face is hurting, it doesn't want to cry and my eyes are getting itchy, but I can't stop. They are flowing like the blood of dead soldiers.

"I know, baby," He murmurs, and crushes himself against me. Pushing his body forward so I feel him through his sleeping clothes. His body is like the terrains, dry and chiseled, muscled and structured.

This should be enough. Being alive, breathing air, and Peeta. It should be satisfying and controlled. But it's not. It's unbearably lonely, harsh, and bitter. This isn't enough for me. I want my damaged childhood, that was enough for me. I had Prim, and a routine that I could handle. Not trying on different personas like shades of lipstick.

Lipstick is thick, and coating, changing a look to be something it's not. Bare lipped and laughing, that is how I want to be. Peeta's hands stroke my hair to the base of my back and he slips his fingers beneath my tank top. Feeling his skin contact mine is reassuring and comforting, so I push back into his hands for more pressure. I pull away and wipe my face.

"You alright?" He asks.

"I'm fine," I try to smile small and look up at him. He removes his hands from under my shirt and I'm about to say something, but he takes his thumbs and wipes them under my eyes.

"You're not," He says. "But you are mine," He whispers and kisses my softly. He pulls away too quickly for my liking, and I look back up at him. "Come on," He says tugging my arm. "I'm going to make you breakfast. Well, maybe lunch since it's already past twelve."

This man, I stare up at him, is perfect. He is charming, and kind, and patient, and I need him like a limb. Although I miss Prim, and nothing will bring her back to me, I need to learn to accept that I will never have her back. Peeta needs to be the underlying force of my life, something that I cannot live without, and he is.

So I follow him down the stairs and listen to the fall of his footsteps, the stairs creaking under the weight of his body. I hold his hand as he gracefully leads me to his kitchen.

"What would you like?" He asks, smiling. I must look raw, so I stare at the ground, and try to avert my gaze.

"Anything's fine," I manage and sit down at the table. Peeta nods his head and turns to get the supplies he needs from the kitchen. I look in-between the fruit bowl and vase Peeta has resting there. It is a letter.

It's Gale's letter.

I am again rushed with memories of what actions preceded this letter. What this letter meant, and what I did. I look up at Peeta who has his back turned to me, who is clad in only cargo shorts and a white t-shirt that stretches and pulls when he moves around. I had sex with Peeta, knowing what would happen that day that I did. I count back the past three weeks in my head.

There is suddenly something wrong with my body. I feel heavy, and tight. My vision is blurring at the edges, and I want to vomit my insides up. I lurch forward and stagger towards the trash can at the side of the counter. I dry heave and Peeta's voice is just muffled noise as he stands behind me, holding my hair away from my face and rubbing a hand against my back.

I am not ready for this. Not ready, not ready, not ready. I want to go back, stop time and curse at myself for my action. Why, why, why? I could have stopped it. I could have not read the letter at all. I could have not let Gale and his shining future corrupt me and send me spiraling to a place that I couldn't handle.

"Katniss!" I hear Peeta. "Katniss!" He yells. "What's wrong, what is it?"

"Stop, Peeta," I moan and dry heave again.

"Are you sick? Do you need medicine? Do you need a doctor?" I want Peeta to shut up, so I slump to the floor in a heap of skin and bones.

"Stop, Peeta," I moan again. He crouches beside me and pushes the hair away from my face.

"What's wrong, Katniss?" He says. I look up at him. His blue eyes, and blonde hair, and I want to rip my hair out.

"I'm pregnant," I whisper. Peeta keeps looking at me, hard.

"What?" He whispers through his teeth. Not in anger, but in indifference.

"I'm pregnant," I say again, gauging his reaction, and again for my benefit. He falls back and leans against the counter beside him.

"Are you sure?" He says intensely.

"Yes," I say, incredulous. I don't stray my eyes away from his face, they are the only thing keeping me to this planet.

"Okay," He says. "This is alright, Katniss," He looks at me and comes forward and places his palms at my cheeks and fingertips at my temples. "This is alright," He repeats. My mind is blank. I can only think, baby, Prim, Peeta. "We can do this," He whispers.

"Okay," I say, nodding into his hands. "Okay," I repeat. I brought this upon myself, I will face the repercussions and consequences. This is my mark to bear. I look at Peeta, and his scared, yet glowing eyes, and know he will take care of me and this growing baby inside me.

"We'll be alright, Katniss," He says. "We'll be alright."


	16. I'm Preparing Every Part For You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was inspired by Sufjan Stevens' "All The Trees Of The Field Will Clap Their Hands".

I've killed people, shot them, watched their eyes clench, and breath heave from their chests. I've pushed, scratched, and kicked Peeta until crimson ran in tendrils down his pale skin. I've rejected my mother, refused Haymitch, and lacked the remembrance of my sister and father. I've peeled the skin from my bones, in attempt to feel.

I'm going to be a mother.

Peeta's fingertips lazily draw across my back, I feel his middle finger trace the length of my spine. My face is turned in the opposite direction, and I close my eyes in contempt. His fingers start to jump across my back, connecting the marks on my skin.

"Peeta," I mumble.

"Yes, Katniss," I can hear the smile in his voice. He was made for these kinds of moments.

"I'm not your canvas," I remind him and turn my head so I can gaze up at him. He is idly leaning on his palm, arm bent at the elbow, his left arm tracing my skin. The sun pours through the blinds, casting a shadow across his features.

"But yet here you are," He points out, fingers not stopping their invisible sketching. I sigh and close my eyes, the glare of the sun is harsh. I lean my head into his down feathered pillow. Peeta invests in the best amenities.

"Alas, you have succumbed to my deepest desires," he says smoothly, and leans closer so I can feel the heat radiate off his skin. I peel one eye open and watch as he leans forward and kisses behind my ear and continues down my neck.

"Peeta," I laugh. It tickles. "What are you doing?" I smile slightly as he pulls away, only to get close to my face. His eyes are on fire, dancing in the wind.

"Glorifying you," he says, eyes not faltering. I should want to laugh, the words are cheesy and so District 1, but I don't. I just look at him, and feel such a profound love, I want to soak him in my blood, keep him in my body like our unborn child.

I lean forward, and close the distance between us. His mouth is warm and alive against mine, a sign that he is here, and didn't slip through my fingers like Prim and my childhood. I trace his bottom lip with my tongue, wanting entrance, and on this warm summer morning, he gives it to me. He tastes like oranges, and the rare exotic mangos he puts in his dishes. I groan into his mouth, not able to contain it. He's unbelievably undeniable.

I turn my body and swing one leg over so I straddle over him. I remember the first time I tried this on Peeta, I was awkward and uncomfortable, but now I am confident, so I press my body flush against his. His torso is resting against the headboard, his legs bent at the knee, giving me freedom to lean back. But I don't, instead grind my hips against his, and Peeta growls in my mouth.

"Katniss," He says against my mouth. "That — Don't — It feels too good," I push my hips against his, and feel his desire build beneath me. I pull away and breathe the breath he exhales. It makes me feel so whole, I smash my lips back against his, wanting to taste him again.

I feel like this is how it always is with Peeta. His body, so desirable, and me wanting it more than oxygen. I grind my hips into him, and his hands grab the hair at the nape of my neck, and tug. He knows I like this, which is why he does it. His other hand molds the skin at my hip, his thumb brushing against the scarred tissue.

"Katniss," He murmmurs between kisses. "Katniss," He says more forcibly.

"What?" I practically snarl.

"We need to stop."

"Why?" I say, and grind my hips into his again. Change your mind, Peeta. He throws his head back, and exhales.

"This is going to sound so pansy," he says. "I just want to lay with you. I don't want to do," He gestures with his arms at our primal bodies. "This."

I lean forward and sigh into his neck. Peeta is always the one to stop. I breathe like a man without air and try to calm my body down. I place a kiss at the juncture between his shoulder and his neck, and kiss my way along his pulse.

When I was younger in the Districts, I heard women and girls that were married my age talk about what a man wants and needs. My mother never let on what my father expected of her, but I though that there were always exceptions to every rule. Maybe our father wasn't like all the other District 12 men. I assumed I'd always wind up with the non-exception.

But, I did.

And I push, push, and push, for sex, crave it and want it, and Peeta wants nothing other than to hold me and bask in the morning sun. I feel like a delinquent, pressuring for something that he doesn't want to give up. I pull away, and look down at his exquisite features, his eyelashes blond and thick, framing his sea blue eyes. His jaw, masculine, and refined under his beautiful skin. His hair that flops over his forehead in desperate need of a cut. His nose, swooping down to grace his face, and the light dusting of freckles over his cheeks, the kind you can only see up close.

I run my fingers over his eyelids and he closes them in reflex. I let the pads of my thumbs brush his purple lids, and sweep them over his eyebrows. My fingertips trail themselves down his temples, feeling the soft bone, raw, and fragile. I trace his nose, and when I get to his lips, I marvel in their softness. They are pink, red in the middle from him biting on it too much. His eyes are still closed, and his lips part beneath my fingers, and I feel his warm breath on my fingertips. I trace his cupid's bow, and his too full bottom lip. I am fascinated with his mouth, the words that spill out of it, the beauty from within.

I let my hands continue their travels, and I feel his Adam's apple move as he swallows. I flick my eyes up to meet his, and he is now staring at me, eyes hot, and smoldering. I move my hands across his collarbone and feel the hard muscle that's attached to his neck. He has been worried and I hate it. I want to strip all this ache and pain from him. My hands feel his shoulders, and travel to his biceps, which flex unintentionally beneath my fingers.

My hands skip a path and move to his pectorals and I leave them hanging over his heart. I feel its beat, warm, pulsing blood throughout his body, making him alive. I lean forward and place my left ear against his chest to hear his beat. Its steady drum, void of death and decay. I feel his chest rise and fall with each breath he takes, a simple sign that he is alive and in my arms. I could listen to his heart forever, and never be sick of it.

I feel his arms move, and his large hands that place themselves around my face. He tugs gently, and I look up and he pulls me so I am face to face with him. His thumbs brush under my eyes, and I love him. It hits me suddenly like a train packed with raw intensity and emotion. I let out a sob as I try to contain this love I have for him in my body.

"Oh, baby," He whispers, pulling me close. "It's going to be all right," he says, reassuringly. I want to tell him that I'm not worried about this baby, or the love it will receive. That I have no doubt in his abilities and capabilties to be a father. It's this sadness in me, this shortage I feel I will give this child. I am not good, I am rotten. This tumor I have which is my past.

"Peeta," I croak between my sobs. "I love you. So much, it hurts," I cry into his chest and want to stop, but I can't. He lets out a shaky breath.

"I know, baby," He says. "I feel —" He breaks off and pulls me closer to his chest. "I know what it feels like," I wonder how long Peeta has felt like this without me knowing. This shattering, earth-quacking, thunder after the lightening feeling, that he has kept hidden in his body, and his heart. This feeling that he has harbored inside his sould for years. I wonder how he has done it. I can barely keep myself composed for a few hours.

"You're going to be a great father, Peeta," I say against his warm skin, wet from tears.

"And you, a great mother," He says into my skin. I pull away, and he wipes my face and I laugh, stupidly, trying to releave this pain in my chest.

"I love that sound," He says, and this is the first time I've heard it.

"What? Me laughing?" I ask. I would expect him to say birds, or the still of the air. Not my uneasy bark.

"It's beautiful," He says. I look into his eyes, not afraid of the love there, or the unknown future.

"We can do this, Peeta," I say, not looking away. He smiles small.

"Yes," He agrees. "We can."


	17. Embrace Me, Surround Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was inspired by Motorcycle's "As the Rush Comes (Gabriel & Dresden Chill Mix)".

All I see is red. In my eyes, on my hands, on the walls, on the cold, tiled floor. Bloody, burgundy, violent, red. I want to clean it, make it the gray color it once was. I don't like this color. There is a throbbing in my head, a consistent pounding, that doesn't stop. A symphony of drums, echoing longingly in my brain. It's melody pouring it's song into my soul.

I am on the floor. I wonder how I got here. Did I fall? Did I crawl? I can't see anything, my eyes are too full with blood. I am in a heap in the floor. I feel my knobby knees against my bony elbows. I stretch my hand out and feel warm liquid. Did I leave the bath running?

I try to push up with one hand but it slips in this unknown liquid, so I just end up back where I started. I cry now, I am useless, and cannot move. I am trapped in this endless red. I blink rapidly, and nothing changes. My hands slip through this liquid and I bring my dripping hands to my face and try to rub my eyes. Smear this blindness away.

Why can't I see? Why is the only sound that of my heartbeat, and thunder?

"Katniss!" I hear through the fogginess of my brain. I press my head against the floor and try to locate the sound.

"Katniss!" More clearer. I sob now, wanting to know where I am, what they are going to do to me.

"Katniss!" I feel hands grip my shoulders and shake me into oblivion.

"Peeta," I wail, and blink back the blindness. But I'm not blind. It's just blurry beyond reasoning. I have feeling in my eyes, too. A burning, tingling of saltwater tears.

"Katniss, baby," Peeta croons, wiping his thumbs under my eyes, close to my tear ducts. I am not eyeless anymore. I see him, blonde hair flopping over his forehead, large shoulders with prominent collar and shoulder bones.

I breathe deeply, wanting to get back to reasoning. I am not dying. Death is not at my door, Prim is not waiting for me.

"Are you alright?" Peeta asks wearily, afraid of an attack or an episode. Nightmares usually induce a painful aftermath. I look up at Peeta who is shirtless in this summer heat, our bodies only clad in a thin white sheet.

"I'm fine," I say, and experimentally trail my fingers over his triceps and biceps, tracing the muscles there. I bring my fingertips back and forth, and stare in Peeta's eyes, as he gauges my reaction. This tenderness I am exerting is not normal after one of my nightmares.

"Kiss me, Peeta," I whispered, and dug my hands into Peeta's golden locks at the nape of his neck and forced his lips onto mine. Peeta felt like he was trying to convince himself before he finally let himself free in the kiss.

Peeta moved his hand slowly across my breast, barely applying pressure, but I felt my body react to the heat of his hand, and I pressed into his hand. He inhaled sharply, and I felt him harden against my side.

Then his thumb swept across the very center of my breast and I was enthralled. My body arched against Peeta, and pushed myself into him as hard as I could and I whined, embarrassingly, but owning it. Peeta's breathing was starting to become uneven, and he let more of his weight drop onto me, pressing into me harder. On of my naked clad legs crept, of it's own accord, up the side of Peeta's and around, using it to pull him closer.

He slid his thumb across me again, harder this time, as though to see if he would get the same reaction the second time. He did. I arched my back into his hand and without meaning to, bit down hard on his lip. I was immediately worried he would be turned off, but Peeta's only reaction was to exhale sharply into my mouth and kiss me harder so I guess I hadn't hurt him too badly. I let my tongue follow along the place there I had bitten, trying to sooth the hurt and was jolted by the taste.

I tasted like an Indian summer, and cool lemon water. Peeta massaged my breast harder, and moaned into my mouth and I couldn't stop. After a few seconds, a forced myself to. Peeta looked confused as I pulled back.

"Let it heal," I whispered. Peeta's tongue darted out to feel across his lip, brushing his fingers over his plump lip.

"I don't mind," He said, a little hesitantly, after a few seconds. "If you — if you like it, I don't mind."

Peeta was giving me permission to bite him. A reason to mark my territory.

"Another night," I whispered, then leaned up to continue kissing him. Heat seared through my body, and I pulled on his hair and arched against him, and caused him to growl deep in his chest. Peeta's fingers threaded through my hair, and then reached my hips, and pulled my hips flush against his. I groaned into his mouth. I forced my fingers to detangle themselves, and let my hands roam the expanse of his back. Feel his muscles as they dipped and moved as he grinded himself into me.

I let my hands dip into the dimples of his lover back, and slipped my hands to they could push his underwear off and to his knees. Peeta wiggled and kicked them off to the floor. Peeta's hands gripped the waistband of my shorts, and yanked them off in one pull and hand them flung on the floor where they belonged. It was too hot in here for clothing.

Peeta pushed himself into me in one thrust and I was clinging desperately to something I didn't have a name for. His breathing grew more ragged, and his body tensed, his hands only moving themselves, and me more frantically as I knew what was coming. I moved my body against Peeta', matching his rhythm, trying with the same franticness to help get him there.

Finally, Peeta's mouth stilled against mine, lips parted and he let out a deep groan into our kiss. His hands pulled me against him once more and then he held me there as his body tightened. I braced my back the best I could on the bed and let him devour me.

I knew Peeta's body — and mine — still needed the friction, so I rolled my hips in place the best I could. This produced a grinding sensation that brought another pleasurable noise from Peeta's lips and one from mine too.

I felt heat then, wet and filling my body. Peeta's hips jerked against mine and he groaned again. I rocked my hips more insistently as Peeta's heat washed through me, and then I was done too. I let my head fall onto the pillows, and Peeta let his head fall into the crook of my neck and I felt him kiss the thin skin there.

It was strong and intense, building in my spine as well as my belly and making me want to cry out. All of my love and my pleasure, but I bit my lips on the loudest of it so only a few whines escaped.

Peeta's hands left my hips to circle my holding me as I shuddered beneath him. Then with a deep exhale, Peeta's body went lax, mine following seconds later.

"I love you," I said clearly, smiling into his eyes.

"I love you too, Katniss," He said roughly, pulling me flush against his body. "I'm yours until you don't want me to be."


End file.
